Le crieur public

IMG_8757If you are, or have ever been, the owner of a black cat, you will be familiar with a certain section of Little Sods’ Law: “If you see a black cat behaving badly in a public place, it’s very likely to be your cat.” And there is an added sub-clause to this part of The Law: “The likelihood of it being your cat is directly proportional to the embarrassingness of the behaviour.”

We have been caught out here a few times with Louis Catorze, and about 758 times with his big brother Luther, and we know now not to waste our time with smug thoughts such as, “What an idiot cat! I wonder whose it is?” So, when Cat Daddy was walking home from Cocoa the babysit cat’s place the other day and saw, in the distance, a lady in the street bending down and appearing to talk to a small, screaming animal, HE KNEW.

Clearly Catorze had slipped out unnoticed as Cat Daddy was leaving for Cocoa’s place, somehow lost sight of his papa and, instead of going back to Le Château to wait, decided to pitter-patter about the streets, screaming.

Cat Daddy was so embarrassed that he briefly toyed with the idea of bidding the lady a good afternoon, pretending he didn’t know Catorze and just walking by. However, Le Roi spotted him as he approached and galloped towards him, up-tailed and screaming himself almost hoarse, so Cat Daddy had no option but to sheepishly own up. “Yeah, this is my cat. No, we hadn’t shut him out: he chose to run out. No, he’s not neglected or mistreated: that’s his normal appearance. No, he’s not traumatised: that’s his normal voice …” and so on.

And it turned out that the lady was not a passer-by but a neighbour, who had heard the unearthly screaming from her house and come out to investigate. Yup, Louis Catorze was THAT loud.

The lady then opened her door to introduce Cat Daddy to her quieter, prettier, better-behaved cat, who sat there eyeing Catorze disdainfully as if to say, “Oh, DO shut up, you undignified oaf!” whilst the little sod continued to scream. Cat Daddy then scooped Catorze up in one hand and said goodbye, apologising again for having disturbed their afternoon. The lady said, “I expect I will see Louis around.”

I think she might hear him first.

 

Santé!

Do cats have an OFF button? Or, at the very least, a LOW POWER button? Louis Catorze is driving us crazy with his naughtiness at the moment.

His lust for play has reignited, and he’s started to let out little “Waaah!” sounds as he chases his toy. If he sees us in the kitchen through the patio doors, he refuses to use the cat flap and screams to be let in. He can be frighteningly convincing, pawing at the glass and looking utterly fearful for his life yet, if we ignore the little weasel for long enough – usually a minute or two – he will come in of his own accord, up-tailed, chirpy and smug, as if saying, “Et voilà! I didn’t need you after all.” He’s also starting to go out for longer at night, as his big brother Luther used to do, and rolls in just before my alarm goes off, soaking wet, shrieking in my ear and with that vile, stomach-churning wet dog smell. Yuck.

His eyes now look exactly like the eyes of a normal cat, with no leathery, bald bits. The horrible under-chin scabs are disappearing, with fur growing back. And I suspect his annoyingness is down to the fact that he’s happier and feeling much better. So, in all, things are looking up for the little sod.

This time last year he looked like crap and was sad, and the year before he was even worse, so I’m excited beyond belief at the prospect of Louis Catorze’s first festive season, to my knowledge, in good health. Here he is, drinking to that!

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