Larry, The Downing Street Cat - Manservant on the brink

Manservant on the brink The coming week, I regret to report, has all the hallmarks of one of those protracted human episodes best observed from a safe, elevated surface, preferably a radiator. It will be trying for me, and positively ruinous for my manservant, who has an unfortunate tendency to believe he is in charge of things, when plainly he cannot even manage a consistent feeding schedule. There will be meetings. Endless meetings. The sort where voices rise, tempers fray, and people pace about as if motion itself might generate solutions. All this activity will, of course, take place on my carpet, which is already showing the weary resignation of a veteran campaigner. My manservant, currently styling himself as leader of the British Labour Party, appears to be heading toward what humans like to call “a difficult set of results,” which is their charming way of saying “a complete and utter drubbing.” I have seen memoranda drifting about the place (they make excellent sitting material), one of which bore the alarming headline “Starmergeddon.” I don’t pretend to know what this means, but it has the unmistakable scent of panic about it. Friday morning, I gather, will be particularly grim. The results begin arriving at the frankly uncivilised hour of 1 a.m., starting with places called Broxbourne and Halton, evidently crucial to determining how much tea will be nervously consumed before dawn. Will this spell the end for my current manservant? Or will he cling on, like a particularly stubborn bit of fluff on a good suit? It is hard to say. Humans have a remarkable capacity for lingering. I am not, as a rule, a betting cat, too much uncertainty, not enough tuna, but I cannot ignore the distinct possibility that I may soon be breaking in Manservant Number Seven. One does try not to get attached. Still, one must stay calm and Larry on… I will update later in the week. #cats #larrythecat #cutecat #ukpolitics #pets