Le thé royal

You know that old cliché about spending time, effort and money on a fancy cat bed, only to have the little sod prefer the cardboard box that packaged the bed? Over the years Louis Catorze has been lucky enough to receive many fabulous toys from various friends, pilgrims and well-wishers. However, his new favourite thing is, erm, a teabag.

In the past, when I’ve made a pot of teapigs Calm tea, Catorze’s head has spun around like Regan in The Exorcist (younger followers: ask your grandparents) as he’s tried to find the source of the smell. The tea contains valerian, which is absolutely vile to the human nose but cats can’t resist it. To them, it’s like Chanel No.5 and crystal meth combined.

A few days ago, when I made another pot of Calm tea, he came and creepy-stared by my feet. He didn’t want food. He wanted valerian.

This isn’t the greatest picture as Catorze was moving, but you can see the most important elements: the teabag, the chat noir shape and, of course, the trademark fang. And, no, we did not make tea with the teabag afterwards, although I know many cat freaks who would (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE).

Cat toys: why bother? No, seriously … why?

Une femme noble et son thé

A couple of mornings ago, Louis Catorze and I settled in front of the television for our usual early morning horror extravaganza.

I had prepared for being TUC by making sure I had as many important things as possible – tea, the remote control, a book and my phone – within easy reach, so that I wouldn’t have to wake Cat Daddy and ask him to bring me further supplies. He was already cross enough with me because, since the research I carried out for my Louis le Comte post, he has been inundated with county notifications. So I didn’t really fancy annoying him for a second time.

Email sent to me by Cat Daddy the other day.

Anyway, as Catorze stirred on my lap, his tail dipped into my mug of tea. I had a teapot at hand but only one mug, and I didn’t want to pour good tea into a mug containing horrible taily tea. And there was nowhere to tip out the taily tea without displacing Le Roi. So I had a dilemma. I knew that Cat Daddy would not appreciate being woken to help me. In fact, he would have just drunk the taily tea had he been in this situation. But I have horrifying visions of where that tail has been, so that wasn’t going to happen.

Teay tail.

Just as I had finished typing my message but before pressing SEND, Cat Daddy’s wine subscription delivery arrived. Now, as I have mentioned previously, dislodging a cat when TUC is akin to blasphemy in the cat freak world. However, not answering the door on this occasion would have meant losing the life-giving substance that fuels Le Château and helps us cope with Catorze, and that – along with Cat Daddy’s Unrepeatable Expletives that would have ensued – was utterly unthinkable.

So Sa Maj was undignifiedly turfed off my lap to allow me to take the wine delivery. He was not pleased.

I am expecting nothing short of Armageddon now.

Send holy water to TW8, merci s’il vous plaît.

Le thé parfumé

I have caught Louis Catorze nuzzling the spout of the teapot.

(Yes, although Dry February is officially over, I’m not in any hurry to hit the booze yet and am happy to stick to tea. In fact, I might even try for Dry March, too, just to see whether I continue to feel healthy and alert or whether my body eventually starts to reject the unfamiliar non-alcoholic beverages and my organs slowly pack up and die.)

I haven’t been so disgusted since I caught Catorze’s big brother Luther doing the same thing to my electric toothbrush when I’d left it to charge up on the floor (because the plug points in our old house were all at ground level). Just as I had left the toothbrush in that same spot about 768 times previously and then used it afterwards, I have left many a half-pot of tea unguarded and then unsuspectingly drunk the tepid remains.

As nuzzlers go, Catorze doesn’t simply brush his cheeks against things; he really, gets stuck in, meaning contact with nostrils, lips, teeth and all sorts. And, because of his tooth impediment and the fact that his lower lip dips downwards to accommodate les fangs, his mouth can never close fully and therefore he would have spread saliva and snot all over the teapot spout.

Now, we all know that bacteria are wiped out by high temperatures. But Cat Daddy, who is a tea expert, has taught me well: green tea, my drink of choice, is brewed at 80 degrees, whereas a temperature of 100 degrees is what’s needed to destroy bugs. And, even if I had brewed the tea at 100 degrees, leaving it to go tepid would have undone any possibility of destroying germs. In fact: tepid temperatures are like a come-hither party invitation for all things gross and germy.

Anyway, I am now scarred for life and will never, ever recover from this. As for Catorze … well, this picture suggests that he might not be too bothered:

Morning tea with a hint of cat spit.

Le gobelet

One of Louis Catorze’s favourite people in the world – with the exception of, erm, all the men – came to visit us recently.

Sa Maj’s visitors are always very generous with their gifts to us and to him, but this lady is especially kind and thoughtful. Her gifts include his vintage French cat bowl, the like of which we have never seen before, a beautiful cat silhouette picture made up of the most commonly-used words on Le Blog – excluding the swear words – and, of course, his beloved igloo.

Her most recent gift to us is below. And, unbelievably, Cat Daddy – yes, he who complains non-stop that “this house is full of cat shite” – loves it so much that he has claimed it for himself. Even though he is now retired and so isn’t really in the market for a travel mug, unless you count his long journeys from the kitchen to the sofa.

Thank you, Lizzi, for this:

C’est le diable Louis-même