Larry, The Downing Street Cat - All CVs considered.

I was up unusually early, partly because of the commotion and partly because the concept of “quiet dignity” has never really taken root in this building. Outside, the usual coffee-fuelled vultures had assembled in a cluster of frantic expectation, behaving with all the calm restraint of a minor stampede near a biscuit factory. One is reminded of nothing so much as a particularly disorganised expedition party, except with more microphones and fewer sensible shoes. My manservant announced his resignation this morning, in what I can only describe as a flurry of unnecessary drama and early-morning optimism, thereby clearing the way for what the human press insist on calling the “coronation” of Andy Burnham as Britain’s seventh prime minister in a decade — a statistic that would, I suspect, make even the most stoic historian quietly reach for a stiff drink. There were, by my estimate, over one hundred humans outside; it was like the Oscars. Camera operators, soundmen, reporters, producers, a whole ecosystem of urgent purpose, most of whom appear to answer to “Charlotte” and carry at least two phones, presumably in case one becomes emotionally overwhelmed. It was, in the technical sense, utter madness. What struck me most, however, was not the noise, nor the flashing lights, nor even the faint whiff of anxiety disguised as caffeine. It was the complete and utter failure of anyone to bring a single respectful tidbit for myself. A surprising omission, given my central role in maintaining morale, order, and the occasional diplomatic balance of the entire operation. My manservant duly addressed the nation, marking the end of his six years as Labour leader and two years as prime minister. Shortly afterwards, it was announced that Wes Streeting would not be pursuing the leadership, leaving the field, as these things so often do, to narrow itself with suspicious efficiency around the so-called “King of the North,” Mr Burnham. One does rather suspect that a few discreet conversations have taken place in dimly lit rooms involving biscuits and mutual understanding. What amused me most was a clip circulating on something called “X”, in which I appeared to be addressing the nation from a scratching post. I have, I should clarify, never addressed the nation from a scratching post, though I am not entirely opposed to the idea if proper lighting is provided. It does, however, mean that my current manservant is now what the humans term a “lame duck” Prime Minister. A rather ungainly phrase, though oddly accurate in tone. With that in mind, I shall be submitting my invoice shortly, with appropriate adjustments for overtime, disturbance allowance, and general emotional labour. It has been, frankly, extremely difficult to obtain any meaningful downtime. Larry the Cat Tuna and Salmon enthusiast, Chief Mouser, reluctant constitutional observer, and guardian of the national cutlery collection. #cats #cats #catsanddogs #larrythecat #larry #pets #animals #humour