In the hallowed halls of British power, where prime ministers come and go and global policies are forged, there is one figure whose tenure remains unshakable, whose approval ratings are the envy of all, and whose daily agenda is refreshingly simple: nap, patrol, and occasionally stare blankly at a wall. This is not a seasoned diplomat or a backbench MP; this is Larry, Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office, the most famous feline in British politics.
For over a decade, Larry the cat has been a fluffy, white-and-tabby fixture at Number 10 Downing Street. He is more than just a pet; he is a national institution, a non-partisan symbol of stability in a world of political chaos. While his official title suggests a focus on rodent control, his true role has evolved into something far greater: a source of public joy, a sharp-clawed satirist of the political class, and the enduring spirit of a house that belongs not to any single government, but to the British people.
A Humble Beginning for a High-Profile Job
Larry’s story begins not in the corridors of power, but in the more humble surroundings of the Battersea Dogs and Cats Home. In February 2011, in the wake of persistent rodent sightings captured by press cameras (a particularly bold rat was dubbed "Rasputin" by the media), the David Cameron government decided enough was enough. The solution was not a new pest control contract, but a feline one.
Larry, a young and reportedly "past his prime" stray, was selected for his strong hunting instincts. He was promptly adopted and installed at Number 10. His arrival was announced with official pomp, a statement that he had "settled in well" and was "already patrolling the house and greeting staff." Thus began the long and storied career of Britain’s first official Chief Mouser since the days of Humphrey, who served from 1989 to 1997.
The public, weary from austerity measures and political scandals, instantly fell in love. Here was something pure, something uncomplicated. Larry didn’t care about opinion polls or parliamentary procedure; he cared about sunbeams in the hallway and the potential for a stray crumb.
The Job Description: Mouser, Morale Officer, and Media Star
On paper, Larry’s duties are clear. His official title, "Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office," implies a solemn responsibility for the security of the Downing Street larder from four-legged invaders. His performance in this area has been… subject to review. Early reports suggested a certain lack of killer instinct. He was once pictured sleeping a few feet away from a very much alive mouse, leading to headlines questioning his work ethic.
But to judge Larry solely on his mousing metrics is to miss the point entirely. His true value lies in his other, unofficial roles:
A Symbol of Stability
Prime ministers have an average tenure shorter than a single term. Larry has now outlasted four: David Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson, and Liz Truss. He was there for Brexit negotiations, COVID-19 briefings, and the chaotic 49-day premiership of Truss. Through it all, he has remained a constant. As governments rise and fall, as ministers resign in disgrace, Larry is always there, often found napping on the famous black door’s doormat, a living reminder that life, and the state, go on.
A Master of Political Satire
Larry has an uncanny ability to be at the centre of political theatre without ever trying. His now-famous scuffle with Chancellor George Osborne’s cat, Freya, who was also residing at Number 11, was gleefully reported as a turf war, a feline metaphor for coalition tensions. His apparent indifference to being petted by world leaders—from a wary Barack Obama to a seemingly rebuffed Donald Trump—provided perfect, wordless commentary. He doesn’t perform for the cameras; he simply is , and in his unscripted authenticity, he holds a mirror to the often-scripted nature of politics.
The Nation’s Therapist
During times of national stress, the British public doesn’t always turn to their PM; they turn to Larry’s Twitter account (run by an anonymous, witty operative). Updates on his activities—"Have stared at the same patch of wall for 45 minutes. It remains resolutely wall-like. A firm but fair policy has prevailed."—offer a moment of levity and relief. He is a universal comfort, a bipartisan beacon of fluff.
Morale Officer for Staff
Behind the scenes, life at Number 10 is intensely stressful, with long hours and immense pressure. The presence of a cat, as any pet owner knows, is a proven stress-reliever. A purring Larry curled up on a chair in a policy meeting room, or meowing for food in the kitchen, provides a touch of domestic normality in a highly unnatural environment.
Rivalries and Relationships: The Downing Street Feline Soap Opera
No drama is complete without a cast of characters, and Larry’s reign has seen its share of co-stars. The most notable was Palmerston, the sleek, efficient black-and-white cat who served as Chief Mouser at the Foreign Office from 2016 to 2020. Where Larry was the laid-back, sometimes lethargic homebody, Palmerston was portrayed as the dashing, professional diplomat. Their supposed rivalry, fuelled by the press and social media, was the stuff of legend. Were they enemies? Colleagues? Or simply two cats who largely ignored each other? The public preferred the narrative of a high-stakes Cold War played out with hisses and swipes in the gardens of Whitehall.
More recently, the arrival of a new feline at Number 11, Snowdonia (or "Nia"), belonging to Chancellor Jeremy Hunt, has introduced a new dynamic. The nation watches, captivated, for any sign of interaction, ready to interpret a shared blink as a sign of cross-departmental cooperation or a turned back as a fiscal snub.
The Enduring Appeal: Why We Care About a Cat
The phenomenon of Larry speaks to something deeper than just a fondness for animals. In an age of deep political division and mistrust in institutions, Larry is a figure everyone can agree on. He is apolitical. He doesn’t U-turn on his policies (his policy is always "more naps"). He doesn’t give evasive interviews. He is genuine.
He also re-animates a grand, old British tradition. The UK has a long history of official feline employees. From the mousers at the Treasury to the Post Office’s own cat, felines have long been considered legitimate, working members of the British establishment. Larry is the modern, media-savvy incarnation of this tradition, connecting the digital age to a more whimsical past.
Furthermore, he represents a small piece of the "people’s house." Downing Street can seem like an impenetrable fortress, a place of secret deals and power struggles. Larry, by simply existing as a normal cat in an extraordinary setting, demystifies it. He makes the seat of power seem, for a moment, like just another house with a cat that sheds on the furniture and demands to be fed.
The Legacy of the Chief Mouser
As of 2024, Larry is now a seasoned elder statesman. He moves a little slower, sleeps a little more, but his presence is no less potent. He has seen off political giants and witnessed history from his unique vantage point. His legacy is not one of caught mice, but of lifted spirits.
He has taught us that in the midst of the most serious human endeavours, there is always room for a little whimsy. He is a reminder that no matter who is in charge, the simple, enduring rhythms of life—the need for a warm spot, a good meal, and a peaceful nap—continue unabated.
When the next Prime Minister eventually moves into Number 10, they will be merely the latest temporary resident. The true, long-serving occupant will be there to greet them, likely with a slow blink of indifference before returning to his more pressing duties. For as long as he chooses to reign, Larry the Cat remains the unflappable, inscrutable, and beloved heart of Downing Street. And long may he continue to do absolutely nothing of consequence, and everything of importance.