Vents, soufflez à crever vos joues!

Anyone who thought Louis Catorze was a complete maniac anyway should see what he’s like when there are high winds. And when I say “should”, what I mean is “really shouldn’t”.

He can be an absolute hell-beast on a windy night, bouncing all over the bed, screaming, whining and thundering around the house. However, on Thursday night, when it also happened to be the first full moon of October AND a raging storm, he decided to thunder around the house WITHOUT A SINGLE UTTERANCE.

Now, this may seem preferable to the screaming, but at least with the screaming I know that it’s him. Voiceless stomping can sound just like a burglar, a poltergeist or some other horror that my mind decides to visualise during fitful half-sleep, and it’s quite an alarming sound to hear over and over again.

I lost count of the number of times the little sod woke me up that night but I estimate it to be around ten to twelve. And, when my alarm went off in the morning, I discovered that he had rolled his wet body all over the clean clothes that I had put out for work. To add insult to injury (and we’re talking considerable injury here, as I regard a sleepless night as akin to being stabbed in the guts), when I came down for my morning cup of tea he crawled into his El Día de los Muertos cold-weather igloo and went to sleep.

Cat Daddy: “He probably brought in a mouse.”

Me: “He didn’t.”

Him: “Maybe we just haven’t found it yet.”

[Silence, tumbleweed, crickets]

Here is Le Roi, most likely telling me that he’s just getting started:

“Shhhhhh. Just sleep. Sweet dreams, salope.”

Sous mon parapluie, pluie, pluie

This afternoon and evening they issued a severe weather warning in some parts of the U.K.: gales, heavy rain, possible flash flooding, you name it. How typical, then, that Louis Catorze should choose today to slip unseen out of the house whilst Cat Daddy was chaining up his bike outside, and end up stuck out at The (Forbidden) Front for ages.

On my arrival home, after working late, I was greeted by a yowling black cat in the front garden, and I knew immediately that no other cat would be stupid enough to be out in this weather. Luckily for Catorze, when our new media unit arrived we dumped all the packaging temporarily in the front garden, along with the old unit (I know – we’re a classy bunch) so he had been using it as a kind of makeshift Anderson shelter. And it was somewhat reassuring to know that he’d probably been there the whole time and hadn’t felt the slightest inclination to go wandering.

Le Roi is now safe, dry and pitter-pattering about Le Château, chirping and trilling. “It sounds like he’s asking us to switch off the storm so that he can go out,” said Cat Daddy. “Well, even if I could, I wouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s a little shit.”