The Killing of Little Louis – Almost

Little Louis is a cat. Well, a large kitten these days. He is a younger brother of our Louis. We called him little Louis for fairly obvious reasons. If it wasn’t for the rabies laws and some unfortunate timing, little Louis would have accompanied his older and larger sibling across La Manche to Blighty. As it was, he and sister Mimi, remain in France with our neighbour who tends to take a laissez faire approach to feline management.

I mention all of this because when we left France, we did so in a bit of a rush. The removal men were late and brought a van that was much too small. Consequently, when they left, we spent the next half-hour or so rushing about deciding what could go into the cars and what had to stay. Meanwhile, next door’s cats were still coming into the house. Our own were ensconced on the removal van, Blighty bound.

When we finally got on the road, a nagging worry started to set in. I’d seen Mimi just before we locked up, but couldn’t recall seeing little Louis. We decided to telephone our neighbours when we arrived in Bristol to ask them to check. Well, more accurately, we telephoned our neighbour’s sister who lives on the other side of the house. Our immediate neighbour speaks in a dialect that can be difficult to understand face to face, let alone over the telephone.

So, back in January, we left the message and hoped that all was well. In April, we received an email from one of the estate agents that upon taking clients around the house, they had discovered a dead cat –  along with a mess made by the animal trying to get out.

My heart sank. Little Louis had indeed come to grief and no one had taken any notice of our original request to check. We managed to contact another villager who told us that this was pretty much to be expected as our neighbour was indifferent to the fate of his cats.

The other problem was that no one would help us by removing the carcass or doing a little cleaning up –  not even the estate agents who stand to profit from the sale. The general response was along the lines of “not our responsibility”.

Last week, we did a marathon trip to sort things out. Hence the lack of activity here this past week. When we arrived, there was that sinking moment when we wondered just what it was we were going to face. The answer was; nothing. No dead cat and a few pieces of broken glass in the bathroom. There was some mess on the bed that the captive had used as a litter tray, which was a pain as it meant cleaning the duvet. No sign of the cat, though.

Little Louis? Oh, he was fine. Sitting there with his sister on next door’s garage roof, large as life. So was his mother who we had thought a possibility. Our neighbour, it turned out, despite all the negative reports we were getting back about no one wanting to help, had, indeed, gone in as soon as he heard. He had checked the house for cats when we called and found nothing. When he went in to remove the dead cat, he found another live one, which must have been let in accidentally by the agent. We asked which cat it was and he told us that it was one of the ginger ones, so we are none the wiser really.

It was all very sad, but our neighbour cared rather more than either the other villagers or the estate agents gave him credit for. I still wish he’d get the buggers neutered, though.

Little Louis (left) with Mimi taken last Christmas. The snotty nose caused by a cold has since cleared up.