Le tabouret du Roi

Cat Daddy recently bought a brand new scratching post. Now, it wasn’t because he wanted to do something nice for Louis Catorze: it was because he wanted to park in Pets at Home’s customers-only car park but didn’t want to be that despicable person who parks there without buying anything.

When he brought the scratching post home, Louis Catorze rushed immediately towards it, scratched happily away (see photo), and all was well with the world … for a whole 24 hours.

image

The next day, Cat Daddy’s heart-stoppingly expensive footstool arrived, from the same company that supplied the swish drinks trolley (yes, THAT drinks trolley: https://jesuisleroisoleil.wordpress.com/2016/02/20/papa-est-decu/). Through some cruel ironie du sort, Louis Catorze now thinks the footstool is his scratching post. And to say that Cat Daddy is displeased about this could not be a bigger understatement.

He has tried to protect the footstool when not in use by leaning cushions against it, but the little sod just pulls them away. We have put the scratching post in front of the footstool, but Catorze just sidesteps it. Shouting “No!” at him when he starts to scratch usually works, but of course it doesn’t stop him from scratching when we’re not around.

Bits of the stitching and fabric are already starting to come away from the footstool, and we’ve only had it for a few days. Meanwhile, the scratching post is still as pristine as it was on the day it was made.

Although I hope that Louis Catorze will miraculously just stop scratching one day, deep down I know that the only solution is to get rid of the offending item.

Cat Daddy just read this over my shoulder and huffed, “I couldn’t have put it better myself – but who the hell would be stupid enough to have him?”

Actually, I meant … oh, never mind.

Ce n’est qu’un au revoir

image

On Tuesday I’m going into hospital for a (common and minor) operation, and my first thought on the matter was, “Will Louis Catorze be ok?” I briefly toyed with the idea of smuggling him in with me in my wash bag – yes, he is small enough – but then had terrifying visions of him escaping and going on the rampage through the hospital. I can just see him accidentally hooking his stupid periscope tail through a patient’s drip and ripping the needle bit out of their forearm, tripping up staff as they carry hazardous chemicals or, even worse, pitter-pattering into Intensive Care, nuzzling a plug socket and inadvertently switching off someone’s life support.

“He probably wouldn’t want to come to the hospital anyway,” said Cat Daddy, “because his favourite person is me, not you.” He is right. Who am I kidding: far from missing me, the little sod will be elated to get rid of me and have 3 uninterrupted days of Boys’ Club avec son papa.

So there will be a few days’ respite from the idiocy of the Sun King, although no doubt said idiocy will restart again the minute I get back. When I had spinal surgery 2 years ago, he welcomed me home by jumping onto my torso, then using it as a launch pad for a further jump, so I can’t wait to see what delights await me this time around.

See you all on the other side. A plus tard!

Le Roi fleurit: vive Le Roi!

image

I haven’t posted about Louis Catorze’s allergy for ages, and I’m delighted to say that this is because I haven’t needed to: Sa Majesté is doing exceptionally well.

He was due to have his steroid injection on 11th June, having had the previous one on 11th May, but we have been able to let it lapse – as per the vet’s advice – because he hasn’t shown any symptoms. He is a little fidgety and scratchy, but the rescue informed us when we adopted him that he would always be that way, even when well. You simply wouldn’t know he were a special needs cat: his fur is glossy, his eyes are healthy, he has no scabs, and he’s full of shouty, annoying energy. He’s also extra obsessed with his daddy at the moment and won’t leave him alone; yesterday Cat Daddy said, “Watch this” then sat down, counted down from 3, and Catorze came hurtling from wherever he was in the house and flung himself onto his lap.

We haven’t done anything different in terms of Le Roi’s treatment, except for brushing him more regularly (a miserable experience for us all, but it has to be done). We have, in fact, been a little LESS stringent with many things, for instance I haven’t treated the fabric furnishings with anti-bacterial spray for a while, and I have even sneaked in a few scented hair products (for me, not for him). And the little sod has shown no reaction whatsoever to our laziness/vanity other than to show positive progress.

It would be great to be able to get to 11th July, making it 2 whole calendar months between injections. But, even if we don’t, we’ll happily take 7 weeks and a few days.

L’égalité?

Usually, when things go wrong, we do everything possible not to end up there again. Today, however, we decided to give Louis Catorze the benefit of the doubt and let him have another stab at the football prediction.

And he has an unlikely cheerleader in the form of Cat Daddy, which is a surprise given how cross he was when the last attempt went awry. Not only is he championing our boy’s second chance, but he is even suggesting that perhaps we were at fault before for not understanding Louis Catorze’s strategy. Cat Daddy’s theory is that Le Roi was eating the LOSING team, not the winner. And I have to admit that it makes more sense to leave the victor intact and to obliterate the loser.

So, with Napoléon once again representing France, with King Zog of Albania flying the flag for his people, and, most importantly, with enough iPhone storage to record the event (having deleted 300 cat photos over the weekend and leaving a mere, erm, 1,000 on my phone), this time Catorze predicted … a draw.

There is no way on EARTH that this could be right. I sense impending embarrassment.

Oh dear.

Je ne suis pas Paul le poulpe

Although we had a fabulous time watching the football with Cocoa the babysit cat’s folks on Friday night, Louis Catorze’s match prediction was a disaster in every way. I’m not remotely bothered because it’s not as if anyone is going to judge him for it (apart from, erm, the whole internet), and he himself is about as unbothered as one can be.

But Cat Daddy, who had hoped that Louis Catorze would become the feline equivalent of Paul the octopus, isn’t taking it too well. “Useless piece of fur! He had one job, and that was to EAT! I’m shocked, but not that surprised, that a fleshy sea spider with a tiny brain is cleverer than he is.”

Actually, octopi are supposed to be very intelligent and cognitively evolved, and I told Cat Daddy this, to which he replied, “Yes, intelligent among molluscs. AMONG MOLLUSCS. So just about cleverer than a slug, yet still cleverer than our cat.” Oh dear.

Catorze’s official Euro 2016 photo shoot yesterday evening was also somewhat chiant, with outtake after outtake sucking up the storage on my phone and (I suspect) being what tipped me over the edge and left me with insufficient space for the match prediction video. We did get this one beautiful shot (below), and, as they say on America’s Next Top Model, “You only need one shot”. But it would have been helpful not to have to sit through all the rubbish ones, during which the silly sod wriggled, rolled stupidly and, at one point, rubbed his arse over France (which was probably considered high treason during the days of the human Sun King).

image

Anyway, the next French game is on Wednesday; let’s see if Louis Catorze can kick-start his predictive powers by then.

On a 1 an!

image

Le Blog is a year old today: bon anniversaire à nous! And what better birthday gift than to reach the landmark figure of 100 followers?

Although it may look as if we snared most of them by beaming Le Roi’s sinister face to an unsuspecting theatre audience & creepily commanding them to follow him, in actual fact this picture of him was part of some local school kids’ animal welfare community project. The 100 followers are thanks to all of you lovely people for spreading the word of the Sun King.

Not only is this great news for Louis Catorze’s favourite animal charities – one of whom featured in the kids’ project – as he will double the donation that he made to them on his birthday, but it’s also great news for the little sod himself, as every new reader means he is potentially another step closer to finding a cure for his problems.

MERCI to everyone who has read, signed up or shared: it really does mean a lot to us, and having 100 followers is beyond our wildest dreams. Now, dare we hope for 200? Could there possibly be another 100 people out there who might enjoy reading about a spoilt, itchy French cat who doesn’t do much?

Les fleurs du mal

Our plans to buffer Le Château’s perimeters have hit a bit of an obstacle: the patch where we had intended to plant the prickly shrub consists of just a few inches of soil on a base of solid concrete, plus it’s curiously boxed in by a mini-wall of concrete. Planting anything substantial there just won’t work so, for the moment, it’s become the new home for our mint plant, which was starting to stifle our other herbs faster than Louis Catorze could eat it and puke it up.

And, just as we set up our outdoor furniture, the weather turns to merde. Typical. Luckily this hasn’t prevented us from enjoying a few snatched moments of almost-warmth outdoors, wrapped up in jumpers and blankets and with Louis Catorze pitter-pattering around us. But, yesterday evening, in the half-light, we caught sight of his stupid little silhouette flicking an object around, diving onto it, then holding it with his front paws and doing that really fast bicycle-kick with his back ones.

The thing, whatever it was, was motionless. But, as we focused our eyes around the garden, more and more of them – also motionless – came into view in the flowerbeds. It was like that internet meme: “The harder you stare, the more zombies appear.” Saint Jésus. We had a massacre on our hands.

“What ARE they?” asked Cat Daddy. There must have been ten, fifteen, maybe more, of these rodent-shaped lumps strewn around our garden, and we were not looking forward to attempting to identify them. Mice = not great. Rats = worse. The pet hamsters of various neighbours = sell up, move house and don’t leave a forwarding address.

After several minutes of procrastinating, we took a deep breath and switched on the main outside light.

And so it was revealed that our dear little boy is the mass killer of …

… [drum roll and fanfare] …

… the dead heads of camellia flowers.

image

Ok, so the object in the photo looks far more like a flower head than a dead rodent but, when you’re a couple of glasses of Cava under and in semi-darkness, it’s an easy mistake to make.

Phew. So Louis Catorze isn’t in the dog house after all. It still doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten MouseGate or SlugGate, though.