À cheval donné on ne regarde pas les dents

Blue the Smoke Bengal gave Louis Catorze a Christmas gift, which was very generous of him given that Catorze hasn’t done the slightest thing to deserve it and, in fact, has been quite rude and unpleasant to him. This must be what it feels like when your kid is the awful one whom all the other kids hate, but their parents still go out of their way to be nice because they feel sorry for you.

If some other cat were mean to Catorze I’m not sure I’d be bothered to give him/her a gift, and I’d probably judge the human for their poor parenting skills, but good for Blue’s mamma for being the bigger person here.

The Trojan horse.

Anyway, the gift was a set of ELEVEN jingle bell cat toys, and they are the noisiest things I have ever heard. Catorze loves them, with his preferred playtimes appearing to be the times that are the least convenient for us: during tense football matches or television dramas, that kind of thing. In the middle of the night would, I imagine, also be an excellent time, were it not for that fact that we do an inventory of the balls before we go to bed at night, just like in prison kitchens where they count in the knives at the end of every shift.

Bien joué, Blue’s mamma. Bien joué.

Here are a few of the offending items. Even the soft ones have bells in them.

La boîte à merveilles

Middle-class cat problems: when your cat has too many toys. And, since every single one of them was given as a gift by a visiting pilgrim (oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: we have never needed to buy Louis Catorze a single toy in his life), I guess that makes it an upper-middle-class cat problem. 

Cat Daddy decided recently that the cat toys must be secretly moving and/or multiplying in the night because, every time he comes downstairs, he finds them in a different position. It’s possible that supernatural forces are at work … although it’s far more likely that Catorze, like his mamma, is great at using things but not so good at putting them away afterwards. 

I thought, for a minute, that Cat Daddy was going to threaten to get rid of the toys (or Catorze). But, instead, he suggested: A TOY BOX. And, naturellement, because he is Sa Majesté Louis Catorze, Le Roi Soleil, only the best box will do. 

So Cat Daddy spent an afternoon painstakingly restoring Cat Grandpa’s antique tool box to make it into a toy box for Le Roi. We know that Cat Grandpa would have approved of this as he had a very special relationship with Catorze. During his visits he would whistle to Catorze, just like whistling to a dog, and the little sod would go running for a cuddle.

Cat Grandpa would have been 100 today and we hope that, wherever he may be, he has cats and a whole stack of toys.

Tromper, jouer, trahir

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We are still reeling from the vet’s revelation that Louis Catorze has resorted to eating his own body parts because he’s so bored. Cat Daddy, in particular, has taken it quite badly.

“I don’t have a problem with being called boring,” he said, “but … too boring for him? FOR HIM? He’s the dullest cat ever! He does nothing! What does that make us?”

He has a point.

I attempted a play session this morning, as advised, but the little sod just sat with his arms/front legs folded, tail flicking away, and made zero effort to join in. And, in a creepy sort of way, I had the feeling he had the upper hand and that he was playing with me, not vice versa.

I went berserk with the feather on a stick, trying desperately to elicit some sort of reaction, and Louis Catorze just stared back as if to say, “Danse, mon petit singe, danse!” Then, after I gave up and discarded the toys, he went out to chase some leaves. Oui, Mesdames et Messieurs: EVEN DEAD LEAVES ARE MORE FUN THAN ME.

I don’t know where we go from here. M’aidez!