Louis Catorze has had a new visitor to Le Jardin and, once again, it appears to be an unneutered male. I don’t know why it is that unneutered males are drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet, but we’re just thankful that they don’t want any trouble.
When Le Roi caught sight of le visiteur in our mint patch and pitter-pattered over to him so fast that his little paws were a blur, we thought, “Mon Dieu, this isn’t going to end well …” But it turned out that our boy was desperate to kiss him. I’m not joking. I’d have preferred him to hold back a little and not offer his heart so readily but, y’know, I guess you can’t help it when the urge hits you.
This first photo isn’t the best quality but Catorze’s body language clearly shows that he is the one unashamedly making all the moves. At this point Cat Daddy had his face pressed up against the window and was actually screaming: “He’s kissing him! OH MY GOD, HE’S KISSING HIM! What a tart!”
Here they are again, more clearly, in post-kiss awkwardness:
Le visiteur was even brave enough to let me stroke him a little and I am quite confident that, at some point, he will let me attach a paper collar bearing the words, “Please do the responsible thing and empty the loose change from these money bags” or something to that effect. I do hope he will be back because he was very easy-going: no fighting, spraying or havoc-causing, just casually hanging out.
Even Cat Daddy is a little bit in love with him. “Now that’s what a proper cat should look like,” he said. “I wish we could keep him.”
(Unfortunately he meant instead of Louis Catorze, not as well as.)
Happy autumn equinox to all pagans and pagan-sympathisers! This is usually one of my favourite days of the year because it means that the whole of the glorious season of autumn, and the countdown to Halloween – the ultimate celebration of the black cat – are ahead of me and still to be enjoyed. However, on this occasion I’m a bit ticked off because a certain little sod has an infected wound and has had to go to the vet.
Cat Daddy was working from home today and noticed that Louis Catorze wouldn’t stop licking and scratching the top of his head. Then, when he sent me a photo (too disgusting to feature here, hence why I’ve used a pretty autumnal flower instead), I knew he would need an antibiotic shot, so off to the vet they went. To his shock, Cat Daddy was told that the shape and position of the wound made it very likely to be a fight injury.
I almost fell over when he broke the news to me. Fighting is just so … well … VULGAIRE. I thought I’d raised my boy better than this. What’s more concerning is that, although our neighbours have reported seeing Louis Catorze in their garden “having a stand-off with a very pretty tabby”, we’ve only ever seen one other cat in our garden on one occasion during our first couple of weeks at Le Château, and not a single cat since. With whom is he fighting? Where? And how on earth can I do anything about it if I don’t see it?
Luckily Louis Catorze remains utterly unbothered both by the vet visit and the wound (and, presumably, the fight) but I’m going to have to keep an eye on him. Clearly my theory about him being too stupid to get into trouble is wildly inaccurate.
A brief update on La Reine: it turns out that the cheeky madam was neither lost nor stray, but simply bored because her folks were on holiday.
I just went to the pub to retrieve La Cage and to drop off a paper collar for her, and the staff told me the happy news. It seems that a neighbour was feeding her in her family’s absence, but clearly their services and sustenance were inadequate so she felt the need to go to the pub for food and love, too. And, since the return of her people, she hasn’t been seen at the pub.
“Cat behaves like a selfish user.” I KNOW. What a shocker of a story.
This little sweetheart, whom we’ve nicknamed La Reine, turned up at our local pub a week ago, and has been there ever since. We met her last night when Cat Daddy and our friend Alex went out for a meal, and she just walked up to me and let me pick her up. I held her for ages, to the point where other customers started staring, clearly thinking, “What kind of total lunatic would bring their cat to the pub?” (Mind you, I would if I could, and the only reason I haven’t so far is because I didn’t think of it.)
We don’t know whether La Reine is male or female, although we suspect the latter due to her small size and delicate pixie face. She let me cuddle her whilst Cat Daddy and Alex finished their meals, then she cheekily went to beg some fish from another customer. Cat Daddy has always said no to the suggestion of getting a brother or sister for Louis Catorze, but something about this sweet little thing melted his heart and – in front of witnesses (I’m writing that as a reminder to him) – he said, “If she’s not claimed after a month, we can keep her.” Fair play to the persuasive power of a few pints of London Pride; it’s so lethal that I’m surprised they don’t use it as an enhanced interrogation tool.
This is a neighbourhood where everyone knows each other, so anyone new coming to live close to the pub would have been common knowledge ages ago. Also, the pub staff know which locals are cat people and have already asked them whether they recognise her: no luck as yet. I asked the staff if they would mind me taking her to the vet to see if she was microchipped, still slightly haunted by the fact that my sister and I recently helped to reunite a lost cat in E3 with her family but only after I stupidly sat on her photo for 3 weeks and did nothing with it. Cat Daddy thought it too soon, but if it were my cat I wouldn’t want someone to hang around before checking, especially as Louis Catorze looks like a diseased stray who has led a torturously rough life and who is in grave need of veterinary attention.
I went back to the pub today a few minutes before the vet surgery opened … and La Reine wasn’t there. So I’ve lent them La Cage and asked them to give me a call if she reappears.
Please feel free to share her picture with anyone in or around the TW8 area.