Larry has been getting some real bad press mainly in the 'Daily Telegraph' of all papers! Now I'm no great admirer of him, as you know. He's a real sofa cat, he loves his chicken dinners and sardine teas. He loves his tummy being tickled. But a rat-catcher, he ain't. That's why I'm here, good old Butch! I catch the rats, or don't, as happened yesterday. But Larry - he's here to show what a 'Jolly nice chap' Dave Boy is. The PM of Great Britain could have had a Persian Kitten or a Siamese-Burmese cross but he chose to go to Battersea to select a down and out street cat. At least, that's the story. It turns out our Larry is an aristocrat with amnesia. Larry just forgot in which part of Belgravia he lived. Just one look at him and you'd see he'd run a mile if he even saw a mouse's whiskers.
Fortunately, you don't know what I look like. There'd be mass fainting if the Boy David's Secretaries or Lady Sam ever caught sight of me. But I keep outta sight and in the basement, except when I chase a rat into the Cabinet Office.
So, I say, give Larry a break, will you? You wouldn't hire a ballerina to do your washing, would you?
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