A major takeaway from the recent UK elections is the serious crisis of faith in mainstream politics — consider the voter turnout which, at just below 60 per cent, was the second-lowest since 1885. Consider also the fact that, on the day of the elections, an opinion poll revealed that compared to the 34 per cent respondents who plumped for Keir Starmer as Prime Minister and 22 per cent who thought that Tory leader Rishi Sunak should stay on at Number 10, Downing Street, 44 per cent believed that the best man for the job was, in fact, a cat named Larry.
At first glance, Larry’s resume is impressive. After a rough early life on the streets, where he is said to have developed a particular skill for hunting rats, the tabby — then four — was adopted by the staff at Number 10 in 2011 to address a vermin problem. He has occupied the office of Chief Mouser to the Cabinet since then, in addition to, as per the Downing Street website, taking on the tasks of “greeting guests, inspecting defences and testing the furniture for napping quality”. Yet, it is also true that a life of privilege softened Larry. He’s been frequently caught doing anything but attending to his KRAs: Photobombing dignitaries, fighting with other feline civil servants and exchanging rude words with the canine variety, and carousing with a lady friend. It got to the point where former PM David Cameron had to throw a fork at a passing mouse because Larry was, quite literally, napping on the job.
Why does Larry remain such a popular figure? It comes down, quite simply, to the fact that amidst all the political churn and uncertainty, the British public knows that catching sight of his furry figure at Number 10 is the one thing they can count on. In the last 13 years, five PMs have come and gone — Starmer is Larry’s sixth housemate — but Larry, reliably, stays on, a symbol of stability.
