When Louis Catorze stopped eating his fish oil vol-au-vents, I tried smearing the oil onto his fur to see if he would groom it off. When it worked a treat, I decided to adopt this method permanently, using a teaspoon as an applicator as my finger was too melty and my lip balm pot was just too weird.
My morning routine now includes squeezing the contents* of a capsule onto the back of a teaspoon, taking said teaspoon into the living room with me with my morning cup of tea and waiting for the little sod to join me. When he does, I pounce.
*I do the whole lot every other day rather than half every day, which saves me from having to reserve a sticky, smelly, half-squeezed capsule. I choose the odd-numbered days because Le Roi is odd.
Now, Catorze wouldn’t be Catorze if he didn’t do something strange and off-the-wall in response to this. The first time I did it he was fine but the second time, unbelievably, he didn’t know where the smell was coming from. His sense of smell is supposed to be 972 times better than mine, and yet I could detect this foul substance from across the room but he had no idea it was ON HIS OWN ARM.
Catorze sniffed the coffee table, the window shutters and the lamp.
Me: “It’s on you!”
Catorze sniffed the carpet, the sofa and his igloo.
Me: “C’EST SUR TOI!”
It was quite some time before the penny dropped and he finally started to groom himself. Naturellement by this point he had done a few circuits of the whole room trying to find the source of the smell, with me nervously following him with kitchen towel and anti-bacterial spray (which I suspect are powerless against oil but I didn’t know what else to do) and desperately praying for him not to rub against anything porous.
The same company who makes the Omega 3 also makes a brain supplement. I don’t suppose we’ll be needing that.
louiscatorze.com 
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