Larry The Purr-manent Prime Minister — The One True Constant in British Politics

We are told that we live in a world of relentless, dizzying upheaval. Governments fall, economies collapse, and tech billionaires invent new ways to make our lives ever more complicated.

Yet, on the steps of Number 10, completely unbothered by the fears of the modern age, sits a small, furry creature who has become a cat-alyst for realizing most things are better off staying the same.

Indeed, in an age where prime ministers flutter in and out of Downing Street like anxious moths around a flame, in the background calmly sits a leader who has seen it all and found it wanting, Larry. Chief Mouser to the Catinet Office.

Larry arrived in 2011, a rescue cat from Battersea, presumably after a rigorous interview for a candidate that had previously had the temerity to spend most of his time around rubbish bins. David Cameron — remember him? — was the Prime Minister then. The one who looked like he had been assembled from a kit marked “Future Leader” but arrived with a few vital pieces missing.

Larry outlasted David Cameron, and then outstayed:

• Theresa May (who had the natural warmth of a washing machine on a spin cycle)

• Boris Johnson (a man whose personal life resembled one of Larry’s more energetic hunts)

• Liz Truss (who lasted as long as a bag of pre-washed supermarket salad)

• Rishi Sunak (a technocratic with the air of a man perpetually surprised to be there)

• Keir Starmer (unexpectedly joins Prince Andrew in the “Epstein Exiles”)

Larry, licking his paws and preparing for a nap, now finds himself contemplating the arrival of Andy Burnham.

One imagines the thoughts that must be taking place in his mind.

Another new Prime Minister arrives, suitcase in hand, full of ideas about levelling up, net zero, or whatever slogan happens to be the flavour of the month. Larry regards them with the expression of a senior civil servant who has seen this sort of optimism before, right before it collides with reality, a select committee, and several thousand pages of Hansard.

At this rate, Larry will have witnessed more changes of government than the average Roman god, and with considerably less back-stabbing. Though one does wonder whether the occasional act of feline violence in the garden might, in fact, be Larry rehearsing his own future putsch.

Human leaders come and go. What is it about cats that makes them such superior political animals? They possess an effortless grasp of power without ever seeming to want it.

Larry does not campaign. He does not issue press releases about “bold new initiatives.” He does not appear on morning television explaining why yesterday’s U-turn was, in fact, a perfectly consistent long-term strategy.

Instead of scurrying around trying to be liked, Larry lounges on the steps of Number 10 like a slightly disappointed monarch reviewing his disappointing subjects.

There is something very British about Larry’s longevity. A nation that distrusts change almost as much as we distrust people who enjoy it. While politicians promise to reshape society and merely end up reshaping their own approval ratings, Larry reshapes absolutely nothing and leaves him. basking in public adoration.

A living reminder that, in the grand scheme of things, most of what we shout about in Parliament is less important than a decent nap and a reliable supply of snack food.

One day, of course, Larry will retire. There will be bronze statues, ghost-written memoirs, a Netflix documentary narrated by someone with a gravelly voice that implies that this domestic shorthair was the true architect of British foreign policy. And some future Prime Minister, sitting alone amidst the smoking ruins of their manifesto, will be struck by the chilling realization that they were never actually running the country, but were merely a temporary tenant in Larry’s house.

But until that day arrives, Larry remains our solitary anchor of stability in a turbulent political landscape that changes faster than a Lib Dem’s principles.

Larry sits on the pavement — utterly unmoved, entirely cynical, and gloriously unbowed.

The one politician who has never let us down.

God save the King. God save the country. And, most importantly, God save Larry the Cat.

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Inspired by my favorite British Satirist, David Mitchell.