La crème de menthe

Quelle semaine! Louis Catorze was correct in predicting that we’d vote Leave, was disastrously wrong in predicting the results of the France v Ireland game and, to top it all, is still limey and we’re no further forward in finding a reason why.

Every time I think the smell is about to fade, the little sod goes and tops up from somewhere. I have recently begun to believe that somebody’s lime mint plant could be responsible for the zesty aroma of his fur and, since catnip and mint belong to the same family, this is more or less equivalent to him going off and getting high on a neighbour’s gear. We don’t know whether to be impressed or ashamed (probably a bit of each).

The only way to know for sure, of course, was to test Catorze. So I ordered my own assortment of mint plants (including a lime mint), and the plan was to arrange them in a row and turn Catorze loose upon them. If he dived head-first into the lime mint and started snorting, we would have a winner.

Cat Daddy rolled his eyes when I told him of my plan. “There’s no mystery to solve,” he said. “Louis Catorze is healthy. His fur smells of a healthy cat. All cats smell like that.”

THEY DO NOT. My mum’s cat doesn’t. My sister’s cat doesn’t. Cocoa the babysit cat doesn’t. And you don’t even want to know what Luther smelled like.

Anyway, Cat Daddy’s objections were overruled and the test was conducted anyway. This was the pitiful sequence of events:

1. Plants are lined up (left to right: evening primrose control/decoy plant, chocolate mint, lime mint, strawberry mint – see photo 1)
2. Test subject approaches, ignores all plants and instead rolls on patio
3. Laughter from me, more rolling from test subject (see photo 2)
4. Wind blows lime mint plant over which, along with more laughter, startles test subject (see photo 3)
5. Test subject loses interest and wanders off
6. The end
7. Conclusion: inconclusive

Seriously, you couldn’t make this up if you tried. (And, yes, I’m aware that it sounds as if I have.)

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Je devrais rester ou je devrais partir?

The EU referendum vote will be taking place today. We have had a number of conversations about it at Le Château, and Louis Catorze has made some insightful and thought-provoking observations:

Me: “What do you think of the referendum, Louis?”
Le Roi: “Mwaah!”
Me: “Meow twice for Remain and once for Leave.”
Le Roi: “Mwaah!”

Me, a few seconds later, to make sure that that last “Mwaah!” wasn’t an accident: “What do you think of the referendum, Louis?”
Le Roi: “Mwaah!”
Me: “Meow once for Remain and twice for Leave.”
Le Roi: “Mwaah! Mwaah!”

Oh. I see.

Me, some time later: “But you realise that, if we left, your Château stronghold could be in jeopardy? I mean, you’re a French migrant …”
Le Roi: “Mwaah!”
Me: “… And you’re living off British taxpayers [me, Cat Daddy and all the pilgrims who have brought him gifts] and not working …”
Le Roi: “Mwaah!”
Me: “… And you don’t have many skills that add value to society …”
Le Roi: “Mwaah!”
Cat Daddy: “MANY skills? Name one skill that he has.”

[Silence, tumbleweed, crickets]

I haven’t the faintest idea which way the vote will swing. But, since Louis Catorze has declared out (twice), and given that he is the crappest of the crap when it comes to making predictions, I think the chances are we will be staying in.

And, so as not to be accused of influencing anyone’s vote – although I would be SERIOUSLY worried about anyone allowing Catorze to dictate their decision – here is the fickle and unintuitive Sun King, this time exercising his right to remain neutral:

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Tout était d’or dans le ciel

Today the summer solstice and the full moon combine, which is a very rare occurrence indeed: the last time was in 1948. Louis Catorze’s weirdness seems to heighten during the full moon alone (one (compound) word: BubbleWrapGate), so I am expecting nothing less than Armageddon.

This picture of Louis Catorze shows the exact moment when he realised I was onto him:

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The fact that he ate both Dreamies yesterday, thus correctly predicting a draw, whereas I urged people to bet on the opposite of what he said, is just the beginning. I dread to think what is coming next; the prospect of the little sod getting things right is almost too crazy to bear.

Please let me know whether your furry overlords and overladies also play up.

La France prospérera?

I don’t know why we’re bothering, but here we are. Again.

And Cat Daddy has done a massive U-turn: not only did he agree to letting Louis Catorze make a prediction for the France v Switzerland match, but he took responsibility for researching an appropriate representative for the Swiss plate. The result of his efforts is, erm, a Swiss mountain dog.

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This time Le Roi bouffed both Dreamies, but curiously lifted the Swiss one away from the plate first before eating it off the floor (bottom left photo). What could this mean, Mesdames et Messieurs?

My view: a French win (based on Catorze’s form for the last match, i.e. a result that is not in any way indicative of what takes place on the predicting plates).

Cat Daddy’s view, expressed after I asked him for the 4th or 5th time whilst he was engrossed in a TV debate about the EU referendum: “Oh, for God’s sake, I don’t bloody know. It probably means he was hungry.”

On verra …

Le Roi se trompe: vive Le Roi!

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Oh, Louis Catorze: you are a sweet cat, but a rubbish psychic.

Luckily he doesn’t know that he’s rubbish. He thinks he’s doing great. After the final whistle of France v Albania, he came screaming into the room, tail up, as if to say, “See? Wasn’t I just MAGNIFIQUE?” Erm, not really. But I cuddled him anyway and he purred, wafted sweet lime into my face and then trotted out, none the wiser.

So, France v Switzerland on Sunday: is there any point in a last-ditch attempt at that one? Cat Daddy says no. In fact, his very words were: “He’s shit. It’s beyond humiliating now. Please stop.”

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 Napoleon 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).

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