Le Roi diabolique

The autumn chaos has started, and Louis Catorze is in big trouble.

First of all, when Cat Daddy was organising some important papers, Sa Maj decided that a paperweight was required, and that he was it:


Secondly, on the day of the autumn equinox, Catorze shamed us beyond words by attacking another cat who passed through the garden. Despite being much larger than Catorze (and, let’s face it, who isn’t?), this poor cat was terrified and desperate to get away; Cat Daddy even intervened to try to help him but, somehow, in doing so, only succeeded in blocking off his escape routes and making him an easier target for evil Catorze.

The little sod eventually emerged from the skirmish as the victor, utterly unscathed and ACTUALLY SPITTING OUT LUMPS OF THE INTERLOPER’S FUR.

And we have just discovered that, as well as rubbing his Gabapentin onto his new bed (which isn’t the end of the world since it’s only for his use), he has rubbed it off onto our sofa (which absolutely IS the end of the world since it’s for everyone’s use). It has discoloured the leather, and Cat Daddy is absolutely enraged.

We didn’t see Catorze do it but, before you all start sticking up for him, there is nothing else whatsoever that this could be. We do eat and drink on the sofa, but we always do so on the seat bits in the middle, never whilst leaning over the arms.

He did it. We can’t prove it, but we know it.

Luckily we took out additional five-year insurance cover when we purchased the sofa, and this entitles us to a replacement in the event of damage, including cat damage. But, no doubt, if we go ahead with that now, the little sod will only do something else to the next one, and I fear that the cover only allows replacement of the original sofa and not every subsequent one cat-damaged.

Cat Daddy: “Getting rid is going to be such a pain in the arse.”

I think he was still talking about the sofa.

L’arrivée du canapé

Our new Sofology sofa and matching footstool* are here. They were supposed to arrive between 12pm and 4pm last Tuesday, in pieces, but, naturellement, they arrived at 7pm, fully assembled, and the delivery people couldn’t get the sofa through the door. So they had to take it apart, bring it indoors and then reassemble it, during which time Louis Catorze escaped out at The Front.

It turned out that the reason they were late was because the original van was involved in an accident – not screeching to a halt to avoid running over a black cat, I might add – and written off, so they’d had to unload all the furniture from one van to another. And, after leaving us at 7:45pm, they still had three more deliveries to do. Mercury Retrograde has a lot to answer for.

We went for the two-and-a-half seater in Dakota Brown. I thought Cat Daddy was joking when he said “two-and-a-half seater” but that’s genuinely what it’s called, and it suits us perfectly because we are a family of two and a half. (Catorze is so small that he only counts as a half.) The three-seater sofa would just about have fitted but, after measuring, Cat Daddy discovered that it would only leave his boy with a narrow thoroughfare to his Sureflap. And, naturellement, we couldn’t have that.

Anyway, both boys are happy, so all is well with the world. And, better yet, if you take out Sofology’s five-year warranty at £157, they will repair or replace the sofa if there is any damage, including cat scratches. That said, this is Catorze we’re talking about. We all know, don’t we, that he will respect the sofa for every single day of the next five years, then slash it to smithereens and dump gross, oozing rodent corpses on it the day after the warranty expires.

Different sofa, same shite.

*Here is the original story of how we purchased our furniture from cat-loving Ish: https://louiscatorze.com/2020/09/05/le-canape-royal/

A bon chat, bon rat

Just like pre-baked jacket potatoes, cycling superhighways and selfie sticks, outdoor sofas are one of those things that seem like a good idea at the time. But, if you have a cat, you may need to rethink your plans to get one. Outdoor sofas can get covered in all sorts of undesirable matter: paw prints, cat hair, dead rats, that kind of thing. And guess which one of the three greeted Cat Daddy this morning, when he went outside to enjoy his first cup of tea of the day?

When he broke the happy news to me, for some reason I felt the need to go and look to make sure he was telling the truth. He was. There, on his favourite spot on the sofa, was a large, curly-haired (nope, neither have we), 3-legged rat.

(Don’t worry: Cat Daddy found the other leg later.)

There was also evidence that a fox had been in Le Jardin but, from what I have learned about foxes’ hunting habits during the 5+ solid hours that I have since spent Googling the subject, leaving prey behind on a raised rostrum isn’t their style. Although it’s quite possible that a fox killed the rat, the podium presentation has Louis Catorze written all over it.

Whilst I shrank into a corner, weeping quietly and rocking back and forth, Cat Daddy remained admirably stoical as he grabbed the gloves, spade and bin bags. I would dispute his theory that “if Louis Catorze had really done it, he would have brought the rat indoors.” No: he didn’t bring it indoors because he COULDN’T (although I bet he gave it his best shot). This thing was at least 30cm long from nose to tail, and probably a good 1/3 of the little sod’s own body weight. And it certainly explains why he was curiously absent for much of last night instead of snuggling up with us and watching the heptathlon and the long jump.

So the outdoor sofa cushion covers are drying outside and our bed linen is next, because we doubt that notre ami mutuel washed his paws this morning before tricking us into unsuspecting bed cuddles.

Here he is, looking very sorry for all the bother he has caused, with stuff on his face that I really hope are cobwebs but I expect they are some sort of nasty rat granules.