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 Napoléon 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.

Le foot rentre chez nous

The Euro 2016 football tournament, which is held in Le Roi’s fatherland this year, starts today with France v Romania. Louis Catorze could not be more excited. He’s not showing it on the outside, but we know he feels it in his heart and that he’s hoping Les Bleus will bring it home.

In honour of this magnificent event, we decided to see whether Louis Catorze’s powers of perception were as finely-tuned as those of his brother, Luther, who, at the last World Cup, correctly predicted the result of England’s opening game by hoofing down the Italian bresaola and not even acknowledging the English Cumberland sausage.

Obviously this was going to be more of a challenge with a cat who doesn’t like food. So, with Napoléon as the face of France and UKIP’s Nigel Farage dutifully representing the Romanians (as a gesture of goodwill following his unkind remarks about them), we put Louis Catorze to the test with a very special occasion Dreamie atop a pile of Arcana Pacifica. The first to be eaten would be the winner of the opening game.

(And no, he’s not usually allowed Dreamies, ever. But, just this once, we thought we’d faire les choses en grand.)

So this is how things went:

1. No reaction whatsoever for several minutes
2. My video fails due to not enough space on my phone (too many cat photos)
3. Brief interest in the French plate, which Cat Daddy captures on his phone
4. His recording fails too (although he won’t say what’s taking up the space on his phone)
5. OFF CAMERA, THE ROMANIAN DREAMIE IS EATEN; THE FRENCH ONE STILL REMAINS UNTOUCHED AT THE TIME OF POSTING

We are in shock: this is not at all what we wanted or expected and we don’t quite know what to do with ourselves now.

Louis Catorze is sunning himself on the patio and couldn’t give a shit.