As defiant Persian cats refused to budge in negotiations to end the war, President Buddy has made a series of increasingly dramatic threats.
WASHINGTON — When President Buddy launched an offensive against Jazmin and Xerxes, Persian cats belonging to a neighbor, he said he expected the besieged felines to capitulate in “two weeks, maybe three.”
Six weeks later not only have the Persian cats refused to meet the president’s demands, they’ve closed the Passage of Four Moose, a key alley that connects the residential area to the rear of a plaza where dumpsters overflow with with yums discarded by a restaurant, a bagel and breakfast cafe, and a bakery.
Without dumpster food supplementing the meals they get from neighbors, local cats are growing increasingly impatient with the war.
President Buddy dismissed their concerns, saying negotiations were going smoothly shortly before expressing anger that talks with the Persians weren’t moving fast enough.
“My envoys say we’re getting close on a deal,” President Buddy told reporters. “A big, beautiful deal unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. It’s gonna be incredible!”
But just three hours later the president took to his personal social media platform, Meow Social, to issue a direct threat to the felines who continued to defy him.
“If they don’t open the alley, we’re gonna blast them to oblivion!” he wrote. “We’re gonna send them back to the stone ages with the — and by the way, my weapons are very powerful. Everyone says it. Open the alley you crazy bastards!”
The president separately posted an AI generated image of himself “as a physician who just happens to be wearing robes” during his war of words with Leo, an Italian lion and spiritual leader.
Previously, President Buddy had threatened to “destroy,” “obliterate,” “armageddonize,” “vaporize” and “unleash fury the likes of which they’ve never seen” on five different occasions, setting deadlines only to pull back at the last minute because, he said, meows between the parties were more favorable.
A spokescat for the Persians said negotiations were “nowhere close to reaching a resolution” and warned they would keep the alley closed until President Buddy recalled his forces. They also expressed frustration, saying that six weeks into the conflict, they still weren’t sure what the president wants or seeks to accomplish.
“He just rambles about ‘tremendous words’ and ‘powerful numbers,”” one source close to Xerxes and Jazmin meowed. “We were able to get his attention by offering access to the coveted McDonald’s trash bins four blocks away because we know he loves Big Macs, but he insisted we give him yellow cake. We don’t have any cake.”
Despite the Persians’ insistence on a withdrawal, Buddesian forces continued to surround the alley, with the aircat carrier USS Tremendous patrolling one end.
Sailors aboard the USS Tremendous, which was deployed to the Alley of Four Moose after Xerxes and Jazmin closed it.
Although President Buddy faces growing concern about the standoff with cats in his own party, he told felines at a Friday rally that a favorable resolution was imminent.
“I wrote the Deal of the Art,” the president told the crowd. “Nobody negotiates like I do. I’ll talk about, like, nine different things, and they all come back brilliantly together. And it’s like – and friends of mine that are English professors – they say it’s the most brilliant thing they’ve ever seen. So the Persians – and by the way, Tuesday will be litter box day, and food bowl day. They’ll be gone, obliterated in one day. So those are very powerful numbers, and we’re gonna attack the Siamese next.”
Who better to take charge in the UK government’s seat of power than the cat who has lived there for 15 years?
Larry the Cat, the UK’s most magnanimous and beloved feline, has shared his home with six prime ministers since he was brought on to No. 10 Downing St. in 2011.
After elections last week diminished current Prime Minister Keir Starmer’s party and grip on power, it seems only a matter of time before a seventh prime minister applies to share Larry’s home.
But if doing the same thing repeatedly and hoping for different results is the definition of insanity, as the famous saying has it, then it won’t be long before Larry outlasts his seventh and eighth prime ministers.
There’s a simple solution: roll out the big chair for Larry. He already naps in it.
As the UK’s equivalent of the White House, No. 10 is both the residence and office of the country’s political leader, and in 2011 the rodent problem at Downing Street was so out of control that then-Prime Minister David Cameron famously threw a fork at a mouse which appeared during a state dinner.
Enter Larry. A prominent local rescue in London, Battersea Dogs and Cats, recommended the former stray for his hunting skills, and Larry arrived at Downing Street like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.
He has outlasted Cameron, Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, and Rishi Sunak.
Larry the Cat. Credit: 10 Downing St.
With the prime ministership feeling like a revolving door at times, Larry’s stoic presence has provided the kind of stability the late Queen Elizabeth II would be proud of. He’s become a national treasure, with approval numbers with the public that human politicians would kill for.
Now the sixth human Larry has generously allowed to occupy No. 10, Keir Starmer, is on the ropes. While we don’t pretend to be experts on the procedures, deal-making and Machiavellian maneuvering that allows UK politicians to wrangle coalitions into prime ministerships, the headlines indicate Starmer is on his way out even as he tries to dig in his heels.
He’s lost a significant amount of support since a major election defeat, and while he remains defiant, his own party members have begun to urge him to step down. It’s a familiar pattern to anyone who has observed politicians come to grips with the end as everyone around them braces for change.
Larry celebrated his 19th birthday just a few months ago but has shown no signs of slowing down.
Here at PITB, Little Buddy and I feel that instead of handing the government to another incapable human, it’s long past time to make Larry the official prime minister.
Larry is already the UK’s de facto leader, well-versed in statecraft from more than 15 years of napping in the vicinity of the UK’s top decision-makers. He’s not intimidated by other politicians, and while some (like former US President Barack Obama) have earned his favor, he’s famously snubbed others.
He’s been the de facto power within No. 10 for quite some time, his leadership skills are beyond question, and the kids love him!
American news networks show us crowds chanting “Death to America!” but the majority of Iranians are just like us.
As our president threatens to erase civilizations, tells the Pope what Christianity is about, and shares AI images of himself as Jesus, it’s important to remember what’s happening in Iran is a real war with real victims, something easy to lose sight of amid all the absurdity.
A first-person account in al Jazeera reminds us of the human and animal suffering caused by war. Even when people aren’t physically impacted, the mental strain of living in a city under attack is considerable, and their poor animals have no idea what’s going on.
One thing you’ll rarely see on American networks is an acknowledgement that the vast majority of Iranians are just like us.
Before the war, they had open access to an uncensored internet. Despite the oppressive theocratic government, it’s easy for Iranians to get TV networks from outside their country. The Iranian regime was never as adept at controlling information as some of its contemporaries.
The people of Iran are overwhelmingly secular, fully aware of what’s happening, and they have long been sick of their government.
The aftermath of a US airstrike on a school in Minab, Iran, that killed 120 young girls and 156 people overall. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
For them it must be a Farenheit 451 moment, watching footage of the bombing while explosions rumble around them. Survival is down to luck. The missile you see streaking toward your city on TV could be the one that hits your apartment building.
To remind us of what’s happening where the bombs are landing, here’s Sana, a 27-year-old woman from Tehran, describing the first night of the war:
“Seven or eight more explosions followed. They were bombing near Mehrabad airport, close to us. I genuinely thought I was going to die.
When I finally went back upstairs, my cat was hiding in the wardrobe, trembling. My family and boyfriend had been calling and texting, without response, for hours, watching the news reports about strikes near the airport and imagining the worst.“
I recommend reading the rest, if for nothing else than to be reminded that Sana is so normal, so much like us.
Header image of Tehran under attack at night via Wikimedia Commons
How do you ensure people will heed warnings to steer clear of nuclear waste storage sites thousands of years in the future? One outlandish proposal involves genetically engineering domestic cats to glow in the presence of radiation.
Imagine you’re a person living five thousand years downstream.
Maybe civilization collapsed and restarted, maybe records were lost, or maybe like Etruscan, Harappan and proto-Elamite, the languages we speak today will be long forgotten.
At any rate, if you discover a forceful warning left by your ancestors from the deep past, would you understand it without translation or cultural context?
And if you’re the one tasked with leaving the message, how would you do it?
The message has to be enduring. It must be recorded in a format that will withstand the tests of time, conquest and natural disasters. The message must be comprehensible without cultural context, because we have no idea how language will shift in the future or whether our descendants will enjoy the knowledge that comes with continuity of records.
Lastly, the message must be both compelling and absolute in its meaning, because its content is vitally important: This site contains nuclear waste. Do not under any circumstances excavate or disturb the contents of this facility. It will lead to sickness, suffering and death.
The traditional trefoil warning sign is unlikely to scare anyone off. The new radiation hazard sign, right, seems unambiguous, but so do warnings on Egyptian tombs.
How do you phrase that in a way our naturally curious species will heed the message?
We certainly didn’t heed the warnings on the tombs of King Tut and other pharaohs. For all we know, humans of the future might believe the hidden chambers deep in Yucca mountain or buried 3,000 feet underground are filled with fabulous treasures and wonders beyond imagination.
They might interpret the warnings as superstition, meant to ward off looters, “grave robbers” and anyone else who might be motivated to break in. They might see the care and effort that went into encasing the objects and conclude there must be something very much worth preserving inside.
Or they might be driven by simple curiosity, as so many human endeavors have been.
A tour group visiting the incomplete Yucca Mountain nuclear waste storage facility. Credit: Daniel Meyer/Wikimedia Commons
Arguments about how to warn the future are at least as old as the Manhattan Project (1942) and the first nuclear power plants (1954 in the USSR, 1958 in the US), but there weren’t serious efforts to come up with a plan until the 1970s, when scientists, historians and other thinkers began to engage in formal efforts to find a long-lasting solution.
Some of the ideas are boring, some are impractical, and some are absurd, like an idea to create a “garden of spikes” atop nuclear material waste sites, to discourage people from settling in the area or excavating.
Unfortunately, one idea that’s still being kicked around is the concept of the radiation cat, or raycat.
Knowledge and language may be lost to history, signage may be destroyed, physical obstacles may be removed. But one constant that has endured, that has seen empires rise and fall, and has existed long before Stonehenge and the pyramids of Giza, is the human relationship with cats.
They’re now valued as companions, but we still use them as mousers on ships, in heavily populated cities, in ancient structures and on farms and vineyards.
They’re embedded so deep into our cultural psyche that it would not be outlandish to think the archaeologists of the future may conclude the internet was constructed primarily to facilitate the exchange of images of cats.
Even the first high-bandwidth deep space transmission was a video of a cat, so in a very real sense, the dawn of a solar system-wide internet was heralded by an ultra high definition clip of an orange tabby named Taters, beamed back to earth from the exploratory spacecraft Psyche, which was 19 million miles away when it transmitted Taters on Dec. 11, 2023.
Consider also that the basic felid body plan — shared by domestic kitties, tigers, pumas, black-footed cats and the 37 other extant species — has barely changed in 30 million years, because cats are extremely successful at what they do.
In other words, cats aren’t going away, and domestic felines have a place in every human society.
So philosophers Françoise Bastide and Paolo Fabbri conceived of the “living warning” in 1984. The idea is to alter the genetic code of felis catus so that the animals glow or change color in the vicinity of nuclear waste, using minuscule levels of radiation as the trigger.
There are natural precedents for this, including bioluminescence and several species of octopus that radically change colors and patterns on their skin to evade predators.
The second component, once the genetic code has been altered, is the creation of folklore: songs, stories and myths that will endure through time, warning people to keep cats close, treat them well, and run like hell if they change color because it means something terrible, something evil beyond imagination, is nearby.
To ensure the folklore of feline Geiger counters endures, an idea by linguist and semiotician Thomas Sebeok would be incorporated. Although empires and states rise and fall, there’s one organization that has survived for 2,000 years preserving a unified message: the Catholic church.
Sebeok proposed an atomic priesthood, an order that would pass the knowledge down through generations, continually seeding culture with stories and songs of glowing felines.
Spent nuclear fuel rods are stored in on-site pools at the facilities where they were used, but pools are meant only as temporary storage solutions. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
If this stuff sounds wacky, that’s because it is. We won’t figure out a way to ensure a message is received and understood thousands of years in the future without considering some off-the-wall plans.
Of course messing with the genetic code of any animal raises serious ethical questions.
We don’t have the right to play God and tinker with the genetic code of extant species. We don’t fully understand the immediate consequences for the health and happiness of cats, and we know almost nothing about the long-term effects on the species.
I’d also argue that we have a special relationship with cats and dogs, one that exceeds any obligations we may feel toward our primate “cousins” or other non-human animals.
Cats and dogs have been living with humans for a combined 40,000 years. They have been molded by us, they are dependent on us, and all that time in human proximity has led to unique changes.
No animals on this planet can match them when it comes to reading human emotions. Our little buddies pick up on our emotional states before we’re consciously aware of them partly because of their robust sensoriums, and partly because as their caretakers, our business is their business.
A clip of a cat named Taters was the first data burst transmitted to Earth using NASA’s upgraded deep space network. Credit: NASA/JPL
We bear a responsibility to both species and the individual animals. It’s not just the fact that without them, our lives would feel less meaningful. It’s the indisputable fact that without them — without dogs who flushed out prey on yhr hunt and guarded small settlements, without cats who prevented mass starvation by hunting down rodents — we would not be here.
Cats and dogs play a major role in the story of the human race. We are indelibly linked. Their DNA is not ours to tinker with, and they are not tools we can repurpose at our convenience.
Thankfully the US Department of Energy has never endorsed the concept of raycats. While there is a website advocating for a raycat program and small groups around the world dedicated to its propagation, the interest is mostly academic.
The Raycat Solution, which maintains a site dedicated to the idea, has a FAQ which says its supporters are serious about its potential usefulness, but for now most experts see it as a thought experiment and reminder that the problem must be dealt with eventually. At some point NIMBY will have to yield to reality, and wherever the US ends up storing nuclear waste, it’ll need to be secured, sealed and marked.
The goal is for the message to endure at least 10,000 years, at which point scientists say the radiation will be minimal.
That’s assuming that the future holds the collapse and rebuilding of human civilization, or at least a technological backslide in which the majority of our species’ knowledge is lost.
We like to think things will be brighter than that and instead of glowing to warn people of danger, cats of the far future will be where they belong — with their human buddies, exploring new frontiers on starships with plenty of comfortable napping spots.
Header image depicts the Alvin Ward Vogtle Nuclear Power Plant in Georgia, the largest nuclear plant in the US. Image via Wikimedia Commons/NRC
[1] The nuclear waste storage facility at Yucca Mountain was initially funded and approved by congress in 2002, then was canceled and de-funded in 2011 after significant pushback from people who live in Nevada, along with their representatives in congress. Plans for the site have changed several times in more than two decades, leaving the US with no central, secure site to store nuclear waste.
As Larry marks 15 years as the chief mouser in the UK’s seat of power, No. 10 Downing Street, Britain’s most famous feline is a constant amid rapid change.
At first it didn’t look as if Larry the Cat’s tenure would last long.
The striking white and tabby mix came highly recommended from Battersea Cats and Dogs, a London shelter whose staff said he was one of their most skilled little hunters. Larry, they said, would adjust well to the busy surroundings of the prime minister’s office and residence.
Adjust he did, but not in the way then-Prime Minister David Cameron, No. 10’s staff, and the UK press thought he would. Larry began his tenure by taking long naps on the residence’s front windowsill, paying frequent visits to his “lady friend” Maisie — a mouser living in another government building several doors down — and establishing a territorial rivalry with Palmerston, the Foreign Office’s mascot and mouser.
“In a separate development, it can be revealed that Larry has a girlfriend,” a droll BBC report from 2011 confirmed, while reporting on a cat-themed quiz night fundraiser at No. 10 to ensure the chief mouser’s yums cupboard remained stocked. “Maisie, a cat who lives at the nearby St James’ Park keeper’s cottage, has struck up a relationship with Larry, a spokesman for the Royal Parks has confirmed.
“There is, though, no prospect of kittens, as Larry went under the knife some time ago,” the report continued, speculating that the chief mouser’s love life could explain “why Larry spends most evenings out – and most days fast asleep in 10 Downing Street.”
It didn’t take long for the press to begin running tongue-in-cheek stories about Larry failing to deliver on promises just like every other political animal, and for a while it looked like No. 10 would need another chief rodent exterminator.
But then Larry began covering himself in glory by defending his new domicile not only from rats and mice, but also from a fox, territorial incursions by Palmerston, ill-intentioned politicians and other undesirables.
As the years passed, Larry’s legend grew. He outlasted Cameron, then Cameron’s successor, Theresa May, who admitted she was a dog person and wasn’t fond of Larry, even denying him the use of her office chair for naps. Then there was Boris Johnson, Liz Truss, Rishi Sunak, and Keir Starmer.
Starmer is Larry’s sixth prime minister, and no one will be surprised if his tenure ends while Larry’s endures. Meanwhile, Palmerston was “retired” to the countryside and only recently returned to politics when he accompanied his human, Andrew Murdoch, to Bermuda when the latter was appointed governor there. Such is the price of incurring Larry’s wrath.
Now at 18 years old, with 15 years as chief mouser under his collar, Larry represents something rare in modern politics: stability and predictability. With the passing of Queen Elizabeth II in 2022, illness and scandal in the royal family, and the usual ephemeral nature of UK politics, Larry has become more important than ever as the stalwart in the country’s seat of power.
Larry’s given the cold shoulder to Irish and Scottish politicians, nuzzled up for scritches from former US President Barack Obama, and forced President Donald Trump to wait before departing No. 10 while taking refuge from the rain under the president’s limo. The famous feline rarely leaves the public guessing when it comes to his thoughts on visiting political figures.
He’s “the most miserable animal you’ll ever meet,” a snubbed Ian Murray, the Scottish Secretary, said after Larry refused to pose for photographs with him. (Murray, it should be noted, was relieved of his post in September, and now holds the lofty title of minister for “culture, media and sport.” Perhaps he and Palmerston can commiserate.)
But that’s part of Larry’s appeal. The chief mouser’s unimpressed reaction to powerful figures has endured him to the public, who shower him with fan mail, treats and toys.
His unintentionally comedic adventures and ability to nap under any circumstances won him the affection of the notoriously fickle UK press, who enjoy watching, photographing and writing about his antics while waiting for the less popular humans inside to update them on the big news of the day.
That’s not hyperbole, by the way: a 2024 Ipsos poll found Larry is more popular than every prime minister to share his home, and the margins aren’t even close.
It also hasn’t escaped the notice of the press that Larry “rules the roost,” and has attentive staff who open the door at No. 10 any time he wants to go in or out. The famous door is actually a blast-proof, steel replica of the wooden original, custom manufactured after the IRA fired a mortar at the residence in 1991. Thus there’s no cat flap, and staff monitoring the door from inside open it as soon as the building’s most enduring resident decides he wants back in.
The prime minister may be the UK’s most powerful political figure on paper, but Larry’s tenure, run of the place, array of servants and adoring fans all prove he’s the real power at No. 10.
Now Larry’s legend will expand even further as the UK’s Channel 4 has commissioned a documentary series on cats from writer-comedian David Baddiel. The series, which is currently filming, will feature Larry in one of its episodes.
Happy 18th birthday, Larry! We hope you see many more years filled with treats, adventures, historic furniture to nap on, and politicians to push around. And if you achieve world peace while you’re at it, no one would be surprised.
Pain In The Bud 
