Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Francois. Cat Francois.
Since some of you may not know me yet, I would like to briefly tell you about
myself.
I mostly live in Paris and came to you through my old friend
Choupette. My natural
modesty does not allow me to mention further details about my
ancestors. (such as my famous great-great-great-grandfather Cat Murr, my great-uncle Tim, who distinguished himself at the Battle of Katerloo,
or my great-great-great-aunt Kate, who earned Miauden of dollars with the invention of the
catwalk)
(Some may not believe all this, although it could easily be proven through
cat lineage tests)
But enough.
I am by no means a bourgeois animal.
No, wandering, drifting, being at home everywhere and nowhere - in short, adventure is my
nature. I am just like an untamable wind.
Which brings us to the topic.
For - people may not be good and are responsible
for many cat-astrophes, but one has achieved something wonderful: he has managed to capture the kindred wind
Mistral or Maestrale, which blows from the south of the country to
Corsica and Italy, in a small bottle.
Of course, only a fraction of it - but still.
You just have to press a button - and it comes out.
And smells fine like a perfume.
A dear person, who also travels a lot, gifted me a
bottle of it. (by the way, a wonderful musician, as
my friend, the cat Holzig, assured me)
Since then, I use this wind perfume daily, its scent
accompanies me on all my excursions.
It starts in the early morning, where I use it as Cat Shave.
The fresh-dry note with which it blows out simply makes me lively, this fine hint of rhubarb with
southern spice and cardamom scent and a hint of coffee.
I look forward to my cat breakfast right away.
Later, when the scent reminds me of wild herbs and dry, slightly
resinous woods in the sun, but still feels morning-fresh, I begin my day's work and set off on my
paws.
Of course - I am drawn to adventure and danger, but first
I start in the Rue de Sèvres at Arnys, where Cocteau once dressed and let Monsieur Mentenez
groom my fur a bit. I gladly take a few butter-braised crabs with me, which he sometimes serves me.
From here, my path continues to the other side of the Seine,
to Rue Marbeuf (I usually take the detour via the
Rue Montaigne, as the pavement is a bit finer there and spares
my velvety paws).
I must confess, despite all my wildness, I have a heart
for couture, love to study shop windows and fashion cat-
alogs and be an uptocat.
Meanwhile, Maestrale unfolds further - the gentle freshness
becomes more serious, sea notes of driftwood and pirate-
romance emerge, cedar wood merges with meadow-
sounds, are these sea meadows where manatees chew on coriander?
I have to think again of pirates, of valuable, stolen
spices, but also of storms and the romance of homelessness. All of this remains wrapped in this gentle,
dry freshness, fine like a cashmere scarf from Charles
Bosquet, in front of whose shop window I now stand.
A delicate hint of clove, perhaps a few floral impressions carried
by the wind can also be sniffed now,
they waft me like a simultaneously lovely and aromatic-
spicy breeze to my next stops - Berluti,
with its British flair, Cifonelli, from which I would love to have a suit tailored to my fur, and Crimson,
where nice music sometimes plays, e.g. one of my favorite pieces
by Cure, Katerpillar.
But before I seriously strive for the adventurous and
dangerous distance, it’s time for lunch.
And I don’t seek it out, like some of my colleagues, in the
catacombs of Paris, no, I know better.
I prefer to dine at Divellec, his langoustines
de casier are incomparable, just like the brandade
de cabillaud.
I have friends in the kitchen here - and now I prefer
their offerings to any menu surprise from the poubelle.
Surely they also appreciate my subtle, but wonderful scent-
aura. Meanwhile, a delicate mossy
and dark green, still fresh but also darkly appearing color has been added to the woodiness, perhaps also stabilized by
a hint of vetiver and musk. (How do I know this? I ask
you - I am a French cat!) They fit so well
with the wind because they tell of a certain melancholic
creaminess of distance and longing.
At least for me.
Not to forget the lavender, which always plays a role,
a wind-beaten lavender from the Provencal
mountains, which exudes a certain elegance and nonchalance.
Somehow, the scent seems to me like a constancy in
the unstable. Something that mocks the heavy.
As long as the wind does not blow, even the down feather is
convinced of its heaviness. So they say.
But I know no heaviness, no groundedness, no
clumsiness, no spoiled softness.
Wherever I lay my head, that's my home.
But in the afternoon I still need a bowl of milk, preferably at
Les Deux Magot. There I dream of my
next travels.
(Maybe to Germany someday? I always wanted to go to
Katzel for the Documenta or experience the wild carnival in
Maunz on the beautiful Rhine.)
As evening approaches and Paris with its
lights makes my dark fur shimmer, (you should see it!) I find my place for the necessary
rest needed for new adventures.
Preferably at Place Vendôme. Here I slip through
a low window into the Ritz Hotel and enjoy the
drydown with its calm, still spicy-fresh,
but now becoming creamier, yes almost a bit powdery
aura in an empty suite, where I then
strategically wake up nice and close to one of the best breakfast buffets in the city for the next day (except for the
cream, which seems a bit creamier to me at the Plaza Athénée).
Sometimes, just sometimes, I play with the thought,
of settling down somewhere and renouncing all adventures and
dangers. Yes, maybe even marrying a nice cat,
someone like Choupette, and...
But then I am drawn back out into the unknown,
into danger and adventure, uncertainty and risk -
I simply have to get away again, like the never-ending wind,
that flees from its own shadow.
Top Notes 
Rhubarb
Bergamot
Lavender
Heart Notes 
Cardamom
Coriander
Carnation
Iris
Base Notes 
Cedarwood
Ambrette seed
Vetiver
TURQUOISE
Hajuvana
Licorice
Yatagan
Parma
Stulle
Rotti75
Jensemann
Ergoproxy
Jpg153
