We had a friend who was kind enough to take care of him when we were not around. He had nicknamed him Faucifer, a pun on Lucifer, obviously, and Faut s’y Faire, which in French means something like, he is hard to get used to! Whenever we got the cat back, the poor guy had scratches on his hands. Jérémie never scratched us, but he did climb up the curtains and was a little devil.
at number 2, Pacha, a black cat with a white breast, that we got from a refuge when Julie and I moved to my present flat. The poor cat peed all over the travel box and himself during the trip from Touques, where the refuge was, and Paris. When we got home, all the boxes and cartons from the move were piled up to the ceiling of Julie’s room. Pacha shot out of his box to the highest and most remote box and didn’t show up for almost two days. There was no way whatsoever to lure him down. When he did show up, he had cleaned up his pissy hair, which now was shiny, he looked his best and gracefully accepted food out of a can. Unfortunately, he turned out to be terribly sick, and only remained with us for a few months as he had to be given a lethal injection when he started being too sick. Poor Julie cried her heart out. Pacha was her first cat and she loved him dearly.
rion to Julie, Mounir to me, a Scottish Fold. After Pacha died, we went all the way to Chantilly, because we were going to buy a cat that time, not take a sick one from a refuge! So off we went, and we thought we wanted to buy a British short hair. The place was full of cats. And they were all so nice! Suddenly, this cat jumped into Julie’s arms! You can say that he chose her.
The funny part is this jump was totally out of character. Mounir will never jump into anyone’s arms. As he loves Julie, he will sleep on her stomach, but most of the time will just lie a few yards away from you. When he wants to be petted, he starts purring, and as soon as you get near him, will move back a few inches. He wants YOU to get near him, not the other way around.
He used to be such an easy creature! When he saw that we were packing, he would get into his travel box and pull the door shut with his paw. We couldn’t believe it. But those good days are all over. Now I have to chase him around or get him stuck in a corner, with no other alternative than the box. He has also become extremely difficult when taken to the vet. Then, he turns into some kind of a wild beast, howls and hisses and scratches. One of the time I took him there, I overheard some kids saying how mean he looked. Poor Mounir. He is such a sweetiepie when at home.
We have no decent photograph of Pacha and I can’t put my hands on one of Jérémie, although I am pretty sure I have a couple lying around. But Mounir has been heavily photographed both by myself and by Julie. Mounir usually lives with my daughter Julie, except in the summer when I take him to Normandy with me. He’s asked to say hello to Ollie in Maine and to wish him the best.