In a tragedy for the baseball world, the hated Dodgers defeated the beloved Yankees in the World Series. Buddy the Cat is NOT happy about the outcome.
Freddie Freeman, Dodgers first baseman, infuriating hit-celebrator, and Yankee killer, has adopted a kitten.
The evil Freeman has named his new kitten Champ, in a not very subtle nod to his team winning the World Series with a game five victory over the Bronx Bombers on Oct. 30.
“Freddie Freeman thinks he can buy his way into my good graces by adopting a cat, and a gray tabby, no less,” Buddy the Cat, president-elect of the Americats, told reporters. “Well, I have news for you, Tom Brokaw — you’re still on my poop list!”
Freeman with Champ. Credit: Freddie Freeman/Instagram
Buddy cited the considerable distress Freeman’s five home runs and 12 RBI caused Buddy’s human, including the “despicable” game one walk-off grand slam that shocked the Yankees. He also blasted Freeman for “doing a stupid little dance” every time the Dodger reached base.
But most of all, Buddy said, he blamed Freeman for cutting short the celebratory treats he enjoyed at every previous stage of the playoffs, when the Yankees were on a roll en route to the World Series.
“In the American League Division series against the Kansas City Royals, snacks rained down from the heavens as the Yankees took the series 3-1,” he said. “In the American League Championship Series, I feasted like a viking in Valhalla as the Yankees crushed the Cleveland Indians.”
But tragically, the silver tabby said, there was only one game in the World Series that merited celebration at Casa de Buddy.
“One measly game!” Buddy raged. “So no, you’re not on my good side, Freeman!”
Freeman should be kicked out of the league just for doing this dance on the bases, Buddy said.
Asked about Freeman’s teammate, Shohei Ohtani, and his dog, Decoy, Buddy claimed the canine “lives by my forbearance alone, and it would be a shame if he found his home raided by Feline Bureau of Investigation (FBI) agents.”
Oscar the Cat lived in a Rhode Island nursing home where he became famous for knowing exactly when a patient was dying.
There’s a scene in the film adaptation of Stephen King’s Doctor Sleep that shows Ewan McGregor’s character, Danny Torrance, working the night shift as a hospice orderly when a cat jumps up onto the desk and nuzzles his hand.
“Hi, Azzie,” Torrance says, and watches as the cute feline pads down the hall and enters a patient’s room.
Danny Torrance (Ewan McGregor) pets Azzie in Doctor Sleep.
When Danny pokes his head in, the patient is distraught. He knows he’s going to die.
“Cat’s on the bed,” the man says. “I knew he would be. That cat…always seems to know when it’s time. Guess it’s time.”
Danny shakes his head.
“No,” he reassures the old man. “It’s just Azrael being a silly
old cat.”
“Nope. Been that way since I got here. The cat knows when it’s time
to go to sleep, everybody knows that. I’m gonna die.”
It’s a pivotal moment early in the movie because it marks Danny’s evolution into Doctor Sleep, a man whose innate ability to “shine” allows him to comfort the dying. (Yes, Doctor Sleep is the sequel to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. Do yourself a favor and watch the Director’s Cut, which is the definitive and most satisfying version. It’s a long film, but worth it in every sense.)
It turns out Azzie is based on a real cat: Oscar, the resident feline at Steere House Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Providence, Rhode Island.
Oscar, who died in 2022 at the age of 17, had an uncanny ability to sense the imminent deaths of patients. When someone was near death, Oscar would leap onto the person’s bed and stay with them until they passed.
Oscar at the nurse’s station in the Rhode Island nursing home where he lived.
When his story was first publicized in a 2007 essay in the New England Journal of Medicine, Oscar had “predicted” the deaths of a few dozen patients.
“Thus far, he has presided over the deaths of more than 25 residents on the third floor of Steere House Nursing and Rehabilitation Center in Providence, Rhode Island. His mere presence at the bedside is viewed by physicians and nursing home staff as an almost absolute indicator of impending death, allowing staff members to adequately notify families. Oscar has also provided companionship to those who would otherwise have died alone. For his work, he is highly regarded by the physicians and staff at Steere House and by the families of the residents whom he serves.”
In a follow-up story by Reuters in 2010, Oscar had snuggled with more than 50 dying patients.
To be clear, no one’s suggesting Oscar is peering into supernatural realms. Cats are known for their remarkable hearing, but they’ve also got an exceptional sense of smell. In fact, they have a unique olfactory organ in their mouths, the vomeronasal organ, that allows them to “taste” scents.
We know very little about what kind of information they’re able to glean from scent alone, but we do know animals can sense things that would otherwise require sophisticated machines for us to detect, including cancers and other diseases.
A cat’s Flehmen response looks like a disgusted reaction, but actually indicates cats are processing a scent through their vomeronasal organ.
It may be that the most unusual thing about Oscar’s case is that he was allowed to live in a nursing home. The vast majority of medical facilities have strict prohibitions against allowing animals due to potential allergies and the perception that they’re dirty, despite the fact that they have significant therapeutic benefits. Even the facilities that do allow animals typically do so under controlled circumstances and for short periods, as when therapy dogs or cats are brought to visit patients.
Perhaps we’d hear about Oscars all the time if they were resident cats in hospitals and nursing homes.
“I don’t think Oscar is that unique, but he is in a unique environment,” Dr. David Dosa told Reuters. “Animals are remarkable in their ability to see things we don’t, be it the dog that sniffs out cancer or the fish that predicts earthquakes. Animals know when they are needed.”
It’s a reminder that just because we can’t see, smell or hear something, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there. When dogs “bark at nothing,” they may have caught the scent of a stranger in the neighborhood. When a cat stares at a wall, it could be picking up mice making sounds that are too high in frequency for human ears to detect.
There are likely thousands of sounds, smells and even forms of tactile feedback to which we remain oblivious, but are noticed by animals. Migratory birds, for example, have magnetoreception abilities. That is to say, they can detect Earth’s magnetic field and magnetic dips, an ability they put to use when navigating as the seasons shift.
And then, of course, there’s Buddy and his incredible ability to detect catnip. Little man could be in a deep sleep in another room, yet the instant I open the sealed container of the good stuff, it’s a matter of seconds before he’s at my feet, meowing happily. In fact, it’s a reliable way to find him when he’s in some novel hidden napping spot, doesn’t respond to me calling for him, and I get worried because I haven’t seen or heard him in some time.
So next time your cat freaks you out by apparently staring at a corner of your living room, remind yourself she’s probably been alerted to something you can’t sense — and be wary of any cats who aren’t snugglers but suddenly climb into your bed.
New to kids and nostalgic to adults, Playland means summer for New Yorkers. PITB visits the National Historic Landmark.
“You know,” I said to my niece, rapping my knuckles against a wooden support beam of Playland’s Dragon Coaster, “they built this thing 100 years ago.”
Her eyes widened. At 10 years old and already wise beyond her years, she smelled a joke at her expense by her constantly wise-cracking uncle. (I once told her and her sister that my cat had a vast collection of Pokémon cards, and that he almost certainly had the ultra-rare cards they coveted. At the time, their young minds didn’t question it and wanted to propose trades with Buddy, but now it comes up every time I tell them something absurd.)
“No it wasn’t!” my niece said as we stood in line to ride the venerable and historic wooden coaster.
My brother chimed in.
“It says it right there,” he said, pointing to a sign above the queue. “This roller coaster was built in 1929, the year the park opened.”
Playland’s ferris wheel and the manicured midway that runs the length of the park, with a giant fountain on one end and a stage for outdoor performances on the other. Credit: PITB
The Dragon Coaster is indeed almost a 100 years old, and to a 10-year-old a century is an incomprehensible amount of time. Mentioning the ride’s age almost backfired on us and we had to assure the kids the ride was safe.
Truth be told, the Dragon Coaster doesn’t look safe. It’s all aging wooden beams, rusting rivets and peeling paint, and the coaster rattles as it allows gravity to do the bulk of the work, with an initial 80-foot drop propelling the cars over 3,400 feet of shuddering track. But it passes inspection every year and it’s a relic of a time when things were built to different standards.
The iconic coaster’s history also extends to pop culture: Tom Hanks rode the Dragon Coaster in the 1988 film, Big, as did Mariah Carey in the video for her 1995 hit Fantasy. In 1987, it was featured prominently in the psychological thriller Fatal Attraction with Glenn Close and Michael Douglas.
A young Tom Hanks on Playland’s boardwalk in Big (1988). The “Zoltar” machine that grants Hanks’ wish in the movie is still in the park and has been moved to the midway.Mariah Carey riding the Dragon Coaster in the 1995 video for her hit, Fantasy. Carey returned to Playland last summer with her family over the July 4 weekend.The Dragon Coaster’s front entrance in September of 2024. Credit: PITB
My brother and I rode the Dragon Coaster when we were kids, as did my mom and her friends in their youth. If you grew up in Westchester County, the Bronx or Manhattan, chances are that Playland was a big part of your summers.
I have vague memories of the park from early childhood, fond memories of screaming on rides like the Mind Scrambler in my teenage years, fresher memories of taking my little charges there when I was a summer camp counselor, and new memories formed annually as I bring my brother’s kids.
Taking the kids to the amusement park was one of the things I most looked forward to when I became an uncle, and they’re at the age now where they really love it. Visiting the park brought on waves of nostalgia (“Good Vibrations” by Marky Marky and the Funky Bunch blasted from the PA when we first arrived), the happiness of seeing the kids’ eyes light up with joy, and the realization that even though I get dizzy and my stomach doesn’t appreciate rapid changes in gravity and direction anymore, some rides are still a hell of a lot of fun as an adult.
The medium-size version of three carousels at Playland in Rye, NY, September 2024. Credit: PITB.
We returned this year to find new rides, refurbished shops and lots of construction. Playland is in the middle of yet another refresh, this time to the tune of $150 million, leaving some rides and areas of the park dark to visitors.
Playland was built on 280 acres of prime waterfront real estate on the Long Island Sound and it’s very much a product of its time. Although it has seen its share of retrofits and refurbishment over almost century of existence, there’s no hiding the fact that it was constructed in the 1920s.
The structures — which include an entrance plaza, an ice casino and arcade, a pool, a beachfront boardwalk and a central tower — were built in an Art Deco style, with a consistent limestone, orange and emerald green color scheme.
As a kid my favorite ride was the Mind Scrambler, a blackout ride variation on the classic Scrambler housed within a dome. I remember waiting on line with my friends, hoping we’d get a good song for the ride, which was adorned with lots of neon and blacklights for maximum funkiness and disorientation.
Alas, messing around on a ride like that doesn’t bring good results. In a sequence of events that’s still difficult to believe, a seven-year-old girl was killed when she was thrown from the Mind Scrambler in 2004.
The exterior Mind Scrambler shortly before the darkride was dismantled following a series of deaths.
Three summers later, park management promoted a 21-year-old Playland employee who was working the night the girl was killed, making her the ride’s manager. She died that summer on the same ride. An investigation found she was kneeling backwards in her seat when she was thrown from the Scrambler just 20 seconds in.
The woman’s death prompted the park’s management to shut the ride down, a decision that was later made permanent despite the fact that “user error” was to blame.
Riders on the Dragon Coaster during the Great Depression. Credit: Rye Historical SocietyA poster from the 1930s showing a bird’s eye view of Playland in Rye, NY. Note the beaches and the boardwalk below the park and the adjacent suburban neighborhood. Very little about the park’s layout or the neighborhood has changed over the years. Credit: Rye Historical Society
A close second favorite was the Music Express, a straightforward moderate speed ride that was also known for pumping out loud pop hits. I have fond memories of riding the Music Express to everything from the Spin Doctors’ Two Princes and Technotronics’ Move This, to Blues Traveler’s Run Around and Snow’s ludicrous summer hit, Informer.
The Music Express was out of commission last summer, but this time it was back in action.
“We’ve gotta ride this!” I told my nieces. Just when I was thinking it was getting a little intense, it slowed down. That wasn’t so bad, I thought. Then it spun up again, faster than before, this time spinning backwards. I felt like I’d downed a six pack of beer in a half hour when I stumbled off the damn thing.
The Music Express at Rye Playland.
I wisely limited myself to less strenuous rides for the rest of the night, including the bumper cars, Ferris wheel and the Zombie Castle. At seven years old, my younger niece isn’t big enough yet to ride some of the attractions by herself, and that’s when the Funcle steps in. Thankfully she’d had her fill of stomach-churners too.
Above: A classic swing ride at rest, left, and mid-sequence as it twirls riders through the air. Credit: PITB
Playland became a National Historic Landmark in 1987, and is unique among amusement parks in the US — and possibly the world — in that it’s government-owned. That’s because the people who live in the area, a wealthy waterfront enclave, were worried about growing crowds, traffic and “unsavory” people. In the 1920s at the urging of the community, Westchester County purchased the land, folded several smaller waterfront operations into a single park, and began drafting plans for a larger destination in the Art Deco style popular at the time.
While Art Deco is typically associated with structures like the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building in Manhattan, as well as the Chicago Board of Trade skyscraper, the jazz-age aesthetic is another feature that makes Playland so unique.
The Zombie Castle was built in the 1930s with a different theme, then was refurbished in the late 1960s, perhaps in response to the success of George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead, which was released in 1968. This image shows the Zombie Castle on September 22, 2024. Credit: PITB
Remarkably, many of the attractions are as old as the park itself, including the aforementioned Dragon Coaster, The Whip, and the original carousel. Several of the older rides were designed and manufactured by engineer W.F. Mengels, the “Wizard of Coney Island” who was famous for designing many of that iconic park’s rides.
Taking the kids to Legoland in New York earlier this summer felt like a soulless experience, like paying to sit through a four-hour commercial for eponymous toys. Every ride was tied to a Lego intellectual property, every note of the piped-in music a corporate composition, every ride forcing you to exit via attached gift shops where $300 play sets beckoned to the children.
Even the “waterpark” had a corporate regimen to it: you’re required to book “appointments” ahead of time and get precisely 20 minutes to cool off under sprinklers on a Lego pirate-themed water playground, complete with Lego palm trees and Lego ships while the next group queues in the afternoon sun and watches, willing time to go faster.
Playland may not be as polished, but the experience feels more honest, and there’s no doubt the kids had more fun here. If I were a betting man, I’d wager Playland will still be there when they have kids of their own, while Legoland will be consigned to the dustbin of themed parks that don’t give you a reason to come back.
Coney Island’s version of The Whip designed by W.F. Mengels. Undated but likely in the 1910s.
A sign with original architectural drawings of The Whip from 1928, explaining “free-pivoting joints, combined with centrigual force, generates twists and turns which change with every rotation.”
Kiddyland is a section of the park for the little ones. It has a miniature roller coaster, a tiny carousel, and at least a half dozen other rides for young kids.
A view from the Ferris wheel at Rye Playland (PITB)
The Whip is one of the park’s original rides, built in 1928.
Alex Garland’s latest film is a road trip through the ruins of America as the nation is engulfed in a modern day civil war. It wasn’t so long ago that such a scenario would be unthinkable. Now we wonder if it’s an inevitability.
There’s a moment in Civil War when Kirsten Dunst’s world-weary photojournalist sits down in the ruins of a US industrial park, with tracer fire lighting up the night a few miles away, and turns to Stephen McKinley’s print scribe.
“Every time I got the photo and survived a war zone,” Dunst’s character tells him, “I thought I was sending a warning home: don’t do this. And yet here we are.”
In a movie that works on every level as a warning to the American public not to throw away what we have, what we take for granted, that one quiet moment feels like director Alex Garland speaking directly to the audience, making sure no one can miss the point. Don’t do this.
Dunst, left, and McKinley share a quiet moment in an industrial park as a battle rages a few miles off. Credit: A24
The sad truth is, the United States now seem more divided than at any other point since the original civil war. We’re dangerously close to the abyss, and the people dragging us there are the most ignorant of us. They’re the people who can’t tell you the name of their own congressman and can’t articulate what the three branches of government do (or even what they are), but insist everyone listen with rapt attention as they screech incoherently about politics and demonize those whose views differ.
They’re the people who return the zealots to congress, who populate the extremes and openly fantasize about purging the country of the ideologically impure.
Kirsten Dunst, left, and Cailee Spaeny in Civil War. Credit: A24
They’ve sworn fealty to ideology, abdicating their responsibility to think about things for themselves. Because, frankly, it’s easier to pick a pundit and an alignment, construct a filter bubble in which they never have to be confronted with a fact they don’t like, and be constantly reminded how they should feel about everything from petty culture war issues to conflicts happening a comfortable distance away. That way everything remains neatly in the abstract, and the consequences are someone else’s problem.
But not this time.
Civil War’s cast is phenomenal, but much of the film’s power comes from seeing the familiar become the horrific. Garland illustrates the banality of evil by taking his characters on a journey through the war-torn east coast, past shopping plazas cratered by rocket propelled grenades, waterways filled with bodies and playgrounds on fire. One highway overpass is vandalized with a spray-painted “Go Steelers!” while the bodies of two Americans sway on ropes beneath it.
In refugee camps in Pennsylvania and Virginia, people who could be our neighbors talk quietly around fires while their kids play with soccer balls and chase each other. The film’s main characters, a quartet of journalists trying to get to Washington, DC (where we’re told presidential loyalists shoot members of the press on the spot), marvel when they ride through one idyllic small town where people walk their dogs and hang out in coffee shops as if the country isn’t tearing itself apart.
It’s only when they stop to talk to the proprietor of a small shop that they realize the illusion of normalcy is maintained by an army of sharpshooters keeping watch from the rooftops.
Garland wisely stays away from the specific ideological reasons for the civil war in favor of showing us the fallout.
The president is on his third term. He’s authorized airstrikes on fellow Americans, imprisoned dissidents, put a bounty on journalists and hasn’t offered the public anything more than teleprompter-fed remarks in more than a year. But his authoritarian grip on power is finally fractured when two fed-up coalitions of states break away from the union. The more powerful of the two, the so-called WF (Western Forces), is extremely well-equipped: a shot of one of their camps shows F-35 Raptors, mechanized infantry and heavy lift helicopters.
Dunst’s character in a Western Forces camp. Credit: A24
These aren’t people living on the margins of society, armed with civilian versions of AR-15s. They’re US military, entire divisions defected in opposition to Washington with all the firepower and logistics capacity that entails. Separately, another secessionist coalition led by Florida is making its way up the east coast, seeking to turn the Carolinas and other states to their cause.
The noose is tightening around the president’s neck, even as he insists “the greatest military campaign in American history” under his command has defeated the secessionists, like Baghdad Bob in the Oval Office.
Nick Offerman plays the authoritarian, three-term president who has ordered airstrikes on American citizens and had journalists executed. Credit: A24
As the Western Forces and Florida Alliance push toward D.C., there’s a renewed sense of urgency in symbolism. The president, Wagner Moura’s Joel says early in the movie, will be “dead inside a month.” Both coalitions are intent on reaching Washington and ending the war on July 4th.
“The optics,” Joel tells the other journalists, “are irresistible.”
Thus, the reporters decide to go after “the only story left,” which is to attempt to interview and photograph the president before he’s deposed or killed, despite the very real possibility they’ll be executed on the White House lawn before they can ask a question.
The film’s central characters are Dunst’s Lee Smith, a celebrated photojournalist who has seen it all, Moura’s Joel, the reporter who is partnered with Lee, McKinley’s Sammy, a reporter for “what’s left of the New York Times,” and Cailee Spaeny’s Jessie, a green but fearless 23-year-old who wants to be a war photographer like Lee.
Lee and Jessie meet at the beginning of the film in Manhattan, where both are photographing unrest as people crowd a disaster relief tanker, hoping to fill their containers with water. The fact that one of life’s most essential needs is no longer guaranteed, in New York City of all places, is just the first sign of how bad things have gotten.
Jessie moves in, snapping away as the crowd pushes toward the tanker and NYPD officers try to maintain order. When several people rush the tanker, Jessie gets hit in the face by someone swinging a bat.
Reeling, she stumbles away from the crowd, and Lee immediately mothers her, taking the young woman a safe distance away. She takes off her bright yellow press jacket and gives it to Jessie, then tells her: “If I see you again, you’d better be wearing Kevlar and a helmet.”
Spaeny, left, and Dunst. Credit: A24
They do meet again, the next morning. Lee is surprised to see the younger woman in the back seat of their truck next to Sammy. Furious, she pulls Joel aside. He explains that Jessie had approached him late the previous evening, asking to tag along with him, Lee and Sammy on their trip to DC.
Joel argues that Lee was Jessie’s age when she began her career, but he’s not acting out of the kindness of his heart. He is a man, Jessie is a beautiful young woman, and he has ulterior motives.
Lee’s mouth twitches in disapproval. She sees this fresh-faced, naive 23-year-old, and sees herself before she’s become jaded from a career of documenting humans doing horrific things to each other.
Civil War would be a road trip movie, if road trip movies illustrated camaraderie by shared trauma. Pockets of violence are everywhere. Some involve presidential loyalists fending off advance elements of the Western Forces, but some are civilians who see an opportunity to kill, torture and pillage with impunity.
Dunst is magnificent as Lee, wearing the war photographer’s trauma like armor, her disgust with humanity apparent in her tired eyes. McKinley is the old-school print scribe who can’t quit, even as his body fails him.
“You’re worried I’m too old and too slow,” he tells Lee and Joel early in the film as they drink in the lounge of a Manhattan hotel, imploring them to let him accompany them south to D.C.
“You aren’t?” Lee answers.
“Of course I am,” he admits. “But are you really going to make me explain why I have to do this?”
Wagner Moura’s Joel screams in frustration and rage after a particularly traumatic scene. Credit: A24
Here again, so much of the movie’s power is showing America in a state we only see from a distance through the dispatches and footage of war reporters. As the three of them sip their drinks in the hotel bar, waiting for their stories and photos to transmit over glacial wifi, the power drops.
“That’s every night this week,” Lee sighs.
“They’ll switch to the generators,” Sammy says.
They’re not in the shell of a formerly grand hotel in Baghdad or Damascus, relying on juice from old car batteries. They’re in New York, America’s greatest city, the cultural, media and finance capital of the world, a metropolis that operates on 11 billion watt-hours a day. A devastated, eerily quiet New York which resembles the early days of the COVID lockdown, yes, but New York all the same.
A sniper is pinned down by a civilian who has taken advantage of the lawlessness and chaos to kill fellow Americans. Credit: A24
After watching Civil War, I was disheartened to see the usual rage and incrimination in discussions about the film. Depending on their political backgrounds, people are sure Garland — a native and citizen of the UK — is “a lib” or “a MAGAtard.” Opportunities for thoughtful discussion are derailed in favor of the usual talking point regurgitation.
But the hope is that the sensible are the silent majority, that we aren’t so fattened by domestic stability, security and a feeling of invincibility that we can’t see what’s right in front of our faces. We would do well to remind ourselves that the scenarios we experience only in the safety of fiction still happen all over the world.
As you read this, people are dying of exhaustion and suffering pointless deaths in North Korean and Russian hard labor camps so brutal that we don’t even have a way to place them in context. The people of Haiti are terrorized nightly by ultra-violent gangs who have filled the power vacuum, raping and executing with impunity. Gaza has been bombed to rubble, and its rubble has been bombed to sand. People hoping to escape abject poverty embark on the hard journey to America only to find themselves sold into sexual slavery. Men and women in Asia, desperate to find jobs, arrive at what they think are interviews only to be kidnapped and spirited away into compounds in lawless Myanmar, where they’re forced to sit in front of screens for 20 hours a day running “pig butchering” romance scams on lonely American retirees. If they try to flee, they’re shot.
And just yesterday, a man walked up to a golf course in Palm Beach county, pointed the muzzle of an AK-47 through the chain link fence and tried to assassinate a major party American presidential candidate — the second assassination attempt in three months.
The people who most need to hear Garland’s message are those least likely to heed it, but we can hope. Reality has a funny way of obliterating fantasy, and it’s better for all of us if our delusional countrymen don’t find out the hard way that war is neither fun nor glorious.
Let’s hope Civil War remains a movie, and not a prescient preview of things to come.
Civil War is currently streaming on HBO Max and is available to rent via Apple, Amazon and other online streaming platforms.
Header image: Western Forces units fire rocket propelled grenades at White House loyalists using the Lincoln Memorial for cover. Credit: A24
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Political careers, human and animal, have been ended by failure to show proper deference to Larry the Cat.
There’s a current crisis in the UK, one of national importance which must be addressed by all relevant authorities before things get out of hand.
Larry the Cat, Mouser in Chief at No. 10 Downing St. (also known as Larry’s House), is not getting the respect he deserves.
First, incoming Prime Minister Keir Starmer moved into No. 10 this summer. Larry has generously allowed five previous prime ministers to live there, so that wasn’t the problem. The issue, which should have been obvious to anyone with a brain, is that Starmer brought his family cat, Jojo, and allowed his children to adopt a new kitten.
After Larry’s dust-ups with Palmerston, the former chief mouser at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO), it was established that the lord paramount of No. 10 would tolerate no feline presence other than his ladyfriend, Maisie, yet Starmer went ahead and insulted his gracious host anyway. Wisely, he has restricted his cats to his private apartments while Larry has the run of the compound.
Palmerston was retired to the countryside after crossing Larry. Credit: US Embassy London
Poll after poll has shown Larry’s popularity easily exceeds that of every prime minister to serve under him, so rest assured there will be a new prime minister as soon as election law allows. One does not simply thumb his nose at Larry the Cat and get away with one’s reputation and career unscathed.
Now another politician has run afoul of Larry and his legions of admirers, committing career suicide by calling Larry “a little shit” and piling on the disparaging comments.
Quickest way to invoke the wrath of the entire country. His days are numbered.
Ian Murray, the secretary of state of a country called Scotland, apparently a minor territory in Larry’s realm, said he and the other Scottish ministers “were like kids in a sweet shop” when they attended a meeting at No. 10, not because of government business, but because they would have the honor of an audience with Larry.
But as Robert Heinlein once observed: “Anyone who considers protocol unimportant has never dealt with a cat.”
Press reports suspiciously omit the breaches of protocol committed by Murray and Peter Kyle, the Scottish science secretary, but photographs show Larry snubbing Murray’s attempts to pet him while Kyle watched and laughed.
Or perhaps there was no protocol breach, and the Scottish delegation simply fell beneath the notice of Larry. Surely a cat with so many responsibilities can’t be expected to micromanage the affairs of insignificant vassal states and commonwealth territories. After all, does anyone honestly believe Larry has the time to fret about Monserrat or the Cayman Islands?
Murray, left, seen bending down to pet Larry immediately before being snubbed in front of his colleagues and the UK press. After this incident, Murray’s time in politics will surely come to an end.
Regardless, Murray was not pleased. The man is now on borrowed time, and he knows it.
“And without putting too fine a point on it, Larry the cat is a little shit. So none of us got a picture with Larry the cat,” Murray said after the public diss. “Larry the cat is the most miserable animal you’ll ever meet in your life. I’m not surprised given who he’s had to live with for the last ten years.”
Murray and Starmer would do well to consider the fate of Boris Johnson, whose prime ministry was over the moment he called Larry a “thug.”
Johnson knew full well his dog, Dilyn, had tried to steal Larry’s food and received an appropriate thumping for it, yet still placed the blame on the country’s most revered figure. (With apologies to His Majesty King Charles and the late Queen Elizabeth, who both enjoy popularity nearly on par with Larry.)
Likewise, former MP Liz Truss became the shortest-serving prime minister in the country’s history, lasting only 50 days in office after failing to establish a rapport with the chief mouser, who was photographed on several occasions ducking her attempts at affection.
Larry the Cat shows Boris Johnson the finer points of national management during the former’s turn as prime minister from 2019 until 2022, when Johnson lost Larry’s confidence and was replaced. Credit: UK Foreign Office
Politics in any country are chaotic and unpredictable, but if there is one rule in the UK political system, it’s this: those who get on the wrong side of Larry don’t last long.
Just ask Palmerston, who was banished to a country estate after a dust-up with Larry and still carries a token of the Chief Mouser’s esteem on his left ear, which was cleaved with the might of Larry’s claws.
You don’t mess with with the Mouser in Chief.
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Pain In The Bud 