Boris Johnson is a master of distraction. What if that stops working?

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British politics features a strategy called deadcatting. The brainchild of Prime Minister Boris Johnson’s former electoral adviser Lynton Crosby, it goes like this: If you’re at a dinner party and you make a terrible mistake — say something awful, commit an unpardonable act or get caught in a lie — your dinner companions may gaze at you in horror. They may demand an apology or seek redress. This is where the deceased feline comes in. You simply produce a dead cat from your bag, whacking it onto the table with a thud. Immediately, everyone reacts. Cries of disgust. Alarm. Furor. Chaos. People are arguing about what to do with the thing — cleaning up, throwing up, screaming, pointing. “Everyone will shout, ‘Jeez, mate, there’s a dead cat on the table!’” explained Johnson. “In other words, they will be talking about the dead cat — the thing you want them to talk about — and they will not be talking about the issue that has been causing you so much grief.”

We British know Johnson as the consummate dead-cat dealer. It has become as much a signature tic as the supercilious grin or the word-salad mumble. But like those affectations, its sole purpose is to give him cover. Listen to his interviews, watch him in Parliament: Asked any question, he is as likely to reach for the dead cat as he is to even attempt to engage with the substance of the inquiry. In January, under pressure after illegal parties at 10 Downing…

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