Downing Street cat that’s got the dream

By Robert Shrimsley

Published: February 16 2011 22:47 | Last updated: February 16 2011 22:47

Number 10’s new mouser writes about life at the centre.

I don’t always go to cabinet meetings. Frankly, they can drag on and everyone knows the big decisions are made in advance. But I do pop in every now and then to show my face. Sometimes I dash in very fast as if in mid-pursuit to see how many of them jump on to their chairs – funnily it’s always the men. Liam Fox falls for it every time.

I don’t have an office but there is a nice sunny spot in the garden room where I like to stretch out. Sometimes I get there and find this old guy called Vince in my spot, curled up in a foetal position and shaking angrily, so then I prowl the corridors till he moves. It’s one enormous maze; last week I found four elderly huskies in the cellar.

I’m not the only cat here. There’s a much larger pedigree fellow called Cameron who some say is head mog but as far as I can see he just sits around all day smiling at people. He’s not here all that often either. You think he’s working in his study but when you look for him, he’s disappeared.

So I suppose you want to know about how I got here and what I do all day. Well, the first thing to understand is that my appointment was fully compliant with civil service procedures and the Nolan Rules – apart from the castration, which I subsequently found out is now voluntary for senior Whitehall staff, (although it’s surprising how many still consent).

But I think they wanted me because I’m not one of those posh boys you see all over the place, licking their fur and feeling smug. I had it rough; I even lived on the streets for a while, so I have some idea what it’s like for ordinary toms. In fact I’ve got a hell of a back story. It’s what makes me so popular with the rightwingers (well, that and my traditional views on gays).

To be honest I had hoped for something a little better. I initially applied for head of strategy but they said I had to start with mousing. I made it clear to Cameron at my first appraisal, however, that I was looking to move up. “I’ll do this for a bit,” I said “but I want a clear career path.” I haven’t decided exactly what I want next. Minister for fish is tempting but in the end I see myself at the Home Office. I’m not much of a speech giver and admit I’m not really a cat for details, but that never stopped Ken Clarke? And there’s always the Lords?

Obviously jobs like that don’t just drop into your lap so I’ve been building my profile. I did a Hello-style photo-shoot for a number of publications, posing decorously in a series of Downing Street rooms. I don’t care for all this lifestyle nonsense when there are serious issues to discuss but you have to play the game.

And then there’s this rat-catching business. I said to them that I was happy to do my bit, but what about the so-called Big Society? I told Cameron: “This reliance on one government employee to tackle a significant social issue is emblematic of the wider problems with our broken society.”

These rats are everyone’s concern and everyone needs to contribute. We have to move beyond the old-fashioned mentality that says the government will sort this out. And frankly, even if I were prepared to take this on single-handed, my budgets have been cut by 20 per cent over the next three years. I don’t see why Chris Grayling can’t help out – he looks like he’d be a good ratcatcher.

I do try to be non-partisan. I put out feelers to Ed Miliband to make sure he doesn’t bring in some terrier should the government fall. But the problem is that I’ve been refused civil servant status and been designated as a special adviser. This raised the question of whether I had the right to give orders to civil servants.

Sir Gus O’Donnell was called in to broker a compromise. So now I cannot actually give instructions but am allowed to sit on their desks sharpening my claws until they do what I want. It’s one of the techniques I learned from Peter Mandelson. He was my hero. Another is often to be seen nuzzling up to senior figures. People think I’m whispering in their ear which makes me look influential.

Obviously, I’m keeping a diary; everyone is. We’re not supposed to because no one likes the idea of colleagues revealing secrets and betraying confidences. But I’ve been talking to Penguin and they seem keen. I’m keeping schtum about it of course. After all no one likes a rat. A rat – get it?