All quiet on the No 10 front - or is it?

No real politics today, @ No 10! Thank goodness, do I hear you say? I tend to agree, there's been too much politics going on since New Year!

The worry is that the silver fox chap - Lansley - is working away in the shadows. He and all his pals seem quite determined to push through their NHS reforms. They smile to the faces of the critics and talk merrily about a 'pause' - I think they meant 'paws'. But, in fact, the Primary Care Trusts are being got rid of - at an ever increasing rate. So - who will be left to run the 'well loved' NHS? Only the private companies - that's who!

Wailing Lad Clegg is all talk and no real action. Secretly, I think he practises his sound-bites in front of the large hall mirror. Judges which one makes him look most sincere, then chooses that one! So far, it's all talk and nothing actually achieved! NHS reforms are still moving, despite Wailing Lad's pronouncements!

I also heard on the great grapevine, that silver fox Lansley has a special pal - one Nick de Bois! This De Bois chap has been sending out emails in support of Lansley. Arturo told me that this De Bois chap had crawled 'out of the woodwork'. I laughed! Get it? If not, try to remember your French lessons in school! I suggested that what the people trying to resist the proposed 'reforms' should do - is call for Rentokil! I really am a very witty cat, though I say so myself!

And now - my fans - for an extra special treat. So many of you have asked for a photo of me! I got one of the secretaries to take a few! Yes - a few. So, I have chosen one just for you and just for today! As you can see, I am in the back garden @ No 10.

As those of you who have sharp eyes will note, I have sustained a rare old bite to my right ear! You should have seen the other guy!

More woes for Georgy Porgy @ No 10!

Arturo came rushing in to No 10 - he said he was escaping from No 11, for the moment. I asked why. He said there was a lot of things flying round the office. "Such as?" I asked. Such as: notebooks, pens, mobile phones, mugs and a plate!

I pondered this information, as any thoughtful cat would. "More tantrums?" I queried.

"Many more tantrums, Butch my old son!" Arturo said, as he lapped up my bowl of milk.

"What's up now?"

"Poor old George is suffering the same fate as all Chancellors. Just when he thinks he's got it taped, it all goes pear-shaped. He was delighted with himself, only last week. Everything he touched went to gold - " Arturo paused, "Maybe that's a bit over the top! But let's say, there were no major problems. Now, those old Tory Eurosceptics are at it again. They are claiming the European Financial Stability Mechanism - now there's a mouthful! I'll call it the EFSM for short. They reckon that we - that's us in the UK - are paying too much into the EFSM to bailout the failing Eurozone economies! One of the arch Tory sceptics thinks we've paid a third of the bailout costs when we should only have paid 12 per cent."

"God! Arturo, this is so boring!"

"Well economics is boring, my dear Butch! You have all the fun and games here in No 10 - In No 11 - it's all facts and figures - or smoke and mirrors - depends on how you rate economists!"

"I don't rate them at all!"

"Nor do I. But our Georgy is up the pole now because the right of the Tory Party don't seem to be rating him anymore. There's even a threat that they might join forces with Labour. The Tory whips are out with a vengeance! 30 Tories rebelled claiming that £12.5bn of taxpayers' money was set aside to help Greece, Portugal and Ireland. They didn't like it! Not with all the benefit cuts coming. Of course, all they're really worried about is their own seats! They all want to be re-elected, don't they?"

"Wonder if Obama's lot have the same trouble." I said. "Tell you what though - at least Boy David and Georgy don't have Sarah Palin on their backs! I saw her promotional video yesterday! Scary, man! One huge grizzly bear roaring! Now - that would give Georgy something to worry about!"

But - Arturo was asleep, curled up on MY cushion. I left him and went for a snooze in the garden near one of the nesting boxes!!

Georgy's self-doubt @ No 10

Well, I must say, Boy David's feet have hardly touched ground since President Obama came and went.   Some of the glitter seems to have rubbed off and onto his shoulders!   Least ways, that's what he thinks!   He's been strutting the European stage like a veritable Blair: head held high, jaw thrust out, tummy held in!   Pronouncements on Europe, the Euro, various wars, foreign aid!  The list goes on and on!

He's going to come right back down to reality with a bump when he enters No 10's black door again!  But for the moment let him dream he's important on the world - er.. European - stage.

For his next door neighbour, Georgy, things have not been so smooth.   Arturo, his under stairs cat, has been feeding me the gossip!  Poor old Georgy!  He was convinced that his economic policies were working so well!  The Tory front bench were in awe!   Even that troublesome fellow, Cable, seemed to be in agreement with him.  All was going 'jolly swimmingly' as he would say.   Then, flash, bang, wallop!  Out of the bright blue sky came the news that:

the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) downgraded its forecast for UK economic growth this year from 1.5 to 1.4 per cent

They have also lowered next year's forecast from '2 to 1.8 per cent'.  This is lower than the Office for Budget Responsibility's predictions of 1.7 per cent for this year and 2.5 per cent for next year.

So what?  Do I hear you ask?  Well, not being an economist, though being remarkably well read for a cat, even I can see that things don't look good!  Ration books on the horizon!  Soup-kitchens in Park Lane!  Could well be signs for the future!

Then, from out of the woodwork, came the man with the hypnotising eyes. The man with the 'he-who-must-be-obeyed' look, Ed Balls saw the figures and grinned! Then he said

George Osborne's rigid determination, despite all the evidence, to stick with deep and fast cuts and refuse to even consider a Plan B does not boost his credibility, it undermines it.

So there you are! Georgy's star is not rising! It's flagging!  One cheerful note though not on an economic point, Ed Balls is not all grin and joy, this weekend.  He also has his own little problems too - they are in the form of one Ms Shoesmith!  So, Georgy will know that the gods are even-handed.

As for me - life is good!   No 10 is quiet at the moment.  The food scraps are plentiful!  The place is warm and cosy.  No need to hunt for rats tonight - found a half-eaten chicken carcass.  Seventh heaven for a cat like me.

While the Boss is away - again - @ No 10

I've been very busy - I'll do a proper posting about my problems soon - but for now my problems pale into insignificance compared to that of my Boss - the PM himself 'Boy' David Cameron.

What a week he's had. Still basking in the sunlight that flowed from the Queen, after the Irish visit, our Boy David was tanned by the soothing warmth that emanated from President and Mrs Obama's visit. He visibly glowed in Westminster Hall and Buckingham Palace. It was a real publicity coup. That's not to say that the President didn't enjoy it - he assuredly did. But not half as much as the PM. It was patently obvious to the UK and the world that he, and he alone, heads up the UK government. The poor Wailing Lad Clegg was left in no doubt that he is a very, very junior Deputy.

Now - Boy David is still basking in the glow of the G8 meeting in Paris. They all stride purposefully down some large avenue - how do I know, you ask, me being a humble cat and all? Well, I know 'cos I saw it on the TV! There was my Boy David looking polished and bright as a button with the other leaders around him. Good on you, Boy, some would say.

However - is this glow going to last? No - No and No again! Already the cold air is coming fast at him. And why is this? Well, one of his party has been heard to call the faithful LibDems - 'yellow bastards!'. Why are the LibDems 'yellow bastards'? Because they are trying to sabotage the Lansley NHS plans. The right-wing Tories are up-in-arms about this. He is one of their own and they will fight for him tooth and nail. Actually what they are reported to have said is :

We Conservatives are ruthless and tribal. We are going to stand up for our man.

Now, this will cause the tan to fade from Boy David's cheeks fast! He may be King of the Castle, at the moment, but he won't want Wailing Lad Clegg too upset. Election boundary changes will not come in for another two years - he has to hang on to the Coalition till then. After that, well - it's plain sailing. The new boundaries will favour the Tory Party - at least better than they do now!

So, you see, he doesn't want those 'yellow bastards' so upset that they pull the plug on the bathtub of their alliance!

Poor Boy David has another problem awaiting him when he gets home. His parents-in-law are fighting tooth and nail to keep their stately home smelling sweetly. Sutton Park - home to Sir Reginald Sheffield, father of the Prime Minister's wife Samantha, and Lady Sheffield must not be ruined. They want the tourists to troop round the crumbling towers 'oohing and aahing' without the smell of rotting flesh getting up their noses! And why should the smell of rotting flesh get up their noses? Because a local man and several local farmers want to provide more facilities for slaughtering of animals! Some dilemma, eh?

As a mere under stairs cat - I cannot venture to think what will be going through the mind of Boy David when he arrives home. One minute you're riding high then ...Whack, you're ... as they say!

'Shut Up' @ No 10

I saw an item in a newspaper that had been thrown onto the Cabinet Office floor. It read 'How to spot a psychopath' and the tag line read : 'From Broadmoor to boardroom, they're everywhere, says Jon Ronson'. If I wasn't a cat, I would have laughed out loud. I thought, you tell that to Boy David! He reckons he's surrounded by them!

He's still in a right old state. He told Georgy that he wished everyone would just 'Shut up'. Of course, as usual, Georgy agreed with everything he said. Well, as one famous lady once said, 'he would, wouldn't he?'

This time, our PM wished that the whisky-cigar smelling man had kept his mouth shut on Radio 5. He - the PM that is - didn't know how to counter the demands from Ed, leader of Labour, to have the Justice Minister's head on a plate. I think he'd have liked the head on a plate too, but couldn't say so!

Our PM also wished that the silver-fox man, the one called Lansley would keep his mouth more firmly under control too. The Manchester Evening News, I gather, reported that the 'NHS row is a storm in a teacup. He was quoted as saying :

"I am responsible for the NHS through the Department of Health but ... I involve all of my colleagues. It involves local government, it involves the Treasury for financial reasons, it involves David Cameron and Nick Clegg and others. We’re all involved in it together."

Now there's a turn up for the books, I thought to myself. One minute this Lansley chap is demanding all the credit for these NHS reforms. Now the going's getting rough they're all in it together.

It's no wonder our PM is going around muttering under his breath.

I also heard another little rumour - can't vouch for it, mark you, it was a tweet. It said that Wailing Lad Clegg is totally desperate to see President Obama.

What with the Minister for Justice, Lansley and Clegg and 'Invinceable' Cable in the background, I expect our PM is wishing that one year ago the LibDems had joined forces with Labour. But then, again, he is an old Etonian - that's not their ethic, is it?

Heads you win! Tails you lose @ No 10.

Boy David spotted me, this afternoon, as he sat down in one of the outer offices. I could not believe what happened next. He reached out and scratched my ear and then began talking to me. My ear! Can you really credit that?

"It's a strange world, cat!" He said, doesn't know my name. he sighed then went on. "One minute everyone is all smiles and pleasant nods. Take yesterday. In Ireland, the Queen and I were the flavour of the month! All and sundry treated us like royalty! Whoops! Well, you know what I mean! I was basking in it all and thinking, 'Eat your heart out, Blair!' Then, I come back to the jolly old UK - and the bickering starts up again: 'You should not have invited the Crown Prince of Bahrain to No 10!' 'You have a 'tin ear' for freedom, Prime Minister!' 'The LibDems are getting away with too much.' 'You are compromising on Tory policy.' 'That Lansley fellow has got to be stopped' 'You mustn't let Lansley down, he knows what's right for the NHS'. Then the other lot, the LibDems, are one constant moan and whine about not getting what they want! I tell you, cat, it's a dog's life!" He pinched my ear. "Why I'm talking to you, I have no idea! Still, I suppose cats can't tell tales."

He pottered out of the room looking very sorry for himself. I remember what old Hi-Tail Tom said to me: 'Heads you win, Butch lad, tails you lose!' At the time, I hadn't got a clue what he meant. But having been here at No 10 for a while, I now know exactly what he meant.

Trouble is that at Nos 10 and 11, Boy David, Wailing Lad Clegg and Georgy want to be winners all the time. They'll end in tears like Thatcher, Major, Blair and Brown. Who'd be a human?

So, Boy David thinks 'cats can't tell tales', does he? He's in for a shock!

To PMQ or not to PMQ? That is the question @ No 10.

"Prime Minister - you have a really busy week. Wouldn't it be wiser to skip PMQs today?"

"What! You're not being serious? Miss PMQs and let that ... that ..." Much muttering under his breath. "My Deputy take over... You must be out of your mind!"

"I was only thinking of your well-being, Prime Minister." The rather abashed junior Minister said. "You are off to Ireland later in the day."

"My well-being, as you so charmingly call it, is served best by reliable colleagues not making stupid suggestions. Clegg is on the rampage at the moment, or hadn't you noticed? Don't you understand that? He'll do anything and everything to show his 'muscular Liberalism'. Ha! Some joke that! The only muscularity about the LibDems is their over used tongues!" He smiled his raffish smile, so reminiscent of Flashman. "So, if you value my continuing support, I assume you do, don't let me hear you suggest that I should relinquish PMQs today."

The junior Minister nodded and collected a pile of papers from the PM's desk.

I rolled onto my back, when they had gone. I stretched myself and then rolled over onto my front. Life was good when these pesky humans left one in peace. As it was, the last few days have been full of 'sound and fury'. Poor old Wailing Lad Clegg has really set the cat among the pigeons - excuse the metaphor - by determining to stand out from the rest of the Cabinet. The shock of the size of the defeat at the polls has made him more positive and as Arturo says, 'thrusting'.

This new posture of the Wailing Lad is highly unpopular with not only my Boy David but also with George from next door. According to Arturo, George gets in a right strop whenever Clegg's name is mentioned. He calls him a 'wild opportunist'. Personally, I thought that a bit rich coming from him!

Still, as the 'hot rabbit' would say 'c'est la vie'!

Hello? Anybody there @ No 10?

It's official now - no more pseudonyms at No 10. You'll remember we had that hide-and-seek game a few days ago! Everyone was searching for Mrs Adams. Then, we were looking for Mr Bowder, Ms Chambers, Miss Deamer and we ended up looking for Miss Zita-Carruthers. In fact we went from ABC to XYZ. And all this was because Sir Gerald Kaufman wanted to speak to a 'Mrs Adams' who had contacted him from here at No 10!

Well now, our Boy David has stepped into the fray - you would expect nothing more than this from our beloved PR of a PM. He, who must be obeyed, has stated that there will be no more pseudonyms at No 10. He didn't say 'pseuds', I noted. So, how will our letters be signed off now, we are all wondering? Will it say 'Yours ever, The very tall, blonde from desk 3, Cabinet Office, Downing Street'? Or will it be: 'Yours truly, Fan No 1 of our PM at No 10'? Possibly it could be: 'Your obedient servant, Intern No 49 attached to the Home Office'?

My feline mind fairly boggles at the variety of sign-offs there might be. We must protect the identities of our staff, you see. We cannot have them being pursued by irate citizen/subjects. That, of course, is if there is any reply correspondence, at all. Some poor s*** never get a response to their letters - not even from a fictitious 'Mrs Adams'. I think the only reason this Kauman got a response was because: 1. He was an MP. 2. He was a 'Sir'. 3. He was irritatingly persistent.

I wonder what the 'hot rabbit' did with all the correspondence to the IMF?

French fries @ No 10

When Boy David came over to No 10, this morning, he was rather irritable.   He had those frown lines across his usually baby-smooth brow.   He held a paper in one hand and was tutting volubly.

"How did those bastards hear about the kitchen?"   He looked accusingly at two of his personal staff.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Prime Minister!"   A brave young man said.

"This!"  He waved the newspaper in the air.   "These reports about Samantha and I having a second kitchen in the flat.   What business is it of anyone else but us?"

There was a prolonged silence.  Then,  the same young man obviously an incautious type said:
"I think you'll find that others do think it's their business, sir."

"What are you talking about?  I'm paying for the blasted thing!"

"That's not the point, Prime Minister."

"Pray tell me what the blasted point is?"

"It's a listed property.   All the houses in Downing Street are listed.   You can't just change the purpose of various rooms and knock down walls or partitions ..."

 "I haven't knocked any bloody walls down!"

"Maybe not, Prime Minister, but there was only ever one kitchen in both the flats at Nos 10 and 11.   Even Cherie Blair didn't make any drastic changes when ..."

Boy David's eyes narrowed and he peered closely at the impetuous youth:  "Are you a Labour supporter, by any chance?"

The young man shook his head.  "No, Prime Minister, I am not."

Boy David sauntered into his office.   I just managed to slink in before he shut the door.   He was still annoyed.   Then he laughed:  "Never knew the froggies called old Strauss-Kahn 'Le chaud lapin'; the hot rabbit!  Now there's a phrase to conjure with.   Don't think Gordon Brown would want to follow a 'chaud lapin' into the hot seat of the IMF."  He laughed at his own joke.   "Must tell George, he'll be vastly amused."

All this talk of hot rabbits made my mouth water.   What I wouldn't give for a tasty bit of rabbit casserole.    However, something tells me that that's not what Boy David was talking about.  Must ask Arturo about all this hot rabbit business, if anyone will know, he will.

Who's Lily-livered @ No 10?

"The man's an absolute oaf!"  Boy David was obviously annoyed, last night!  And - he was letting everyone know it.  "Just because that mop of yellow hair and I went to the same school - does not mean I have to like him!"

I wondered who this 'mop of yellow hair' was!  I don't think it could be Wailing Lad Clegg.  For starters, his hair isn't yellow and he didn't go to Eton!  The hush-puppy man who smells of cigars and whisky, he has a mop of hair but it isn't yellow and he is proud of being a north countryman.  So, who could he mean?

"It's that Mayor of London chap, the one called Boris!"  Arturo hissed in my ear.  He had slunk in round the curtains from next door to get some peace and quiet.  "If you think there's bluster here, you should try No 11.  Georgy is doing his nut because of that man Balls' comments."

"What comments?"  I asked.

"The ones where he says that Georgy doesn't know what he's doing with the economy and that we'll all end up in the gutter.  Georgy didn't like that one little bit.  He thinks he's an 'upstart', as he calls him!"

 "So - both our bosses are upset today!  Boy David resents his policies being called 'lily-livered' and Georgy hates being told he's wrong!  Right couple of know-alls, aren't they?"

Arturo and I pondered the situation.  It seems that this Boris, with the yellow hair, could well come back into the House of Commons again.  It also seems that he thinks he would make an excellent Prime Minister.  One commentator, who does not want to be known for saying this, thinks that Boris, with the yellow hair, has  'sheer ruthless animal energy'.  Boy David is a much 'cooler customer'.  A quintessential Englishman, in fact!

"Ah! Ha!,"  I said to Arturo.  "Beware the quintessential Englishman.  They're never as harmless as they appear!"

Arturo  nodded, as sagely as an old Tom cat can appear.  "I don't like the sound of this yellow haired man who has 'sheer ruthless animal energy'!  Sounds more like a pit-bull!  We don't want one of those in Downing Street, do we?

I pondered those wise words.  If yellow hair is like a pit-bull then what is our Boy David?  A springer spaniel?  A black labrador?  A bull mastiff?  Whatever the choice, it sure ain't feline! 

Speculation @ No 10?

There was a fantastic smell of freshly ground coffee floating around the corridors this morning! Even a cat likes the smell - in case you're wondering! But there was also quite a fuss and bother - all around coffee!

"Do you know, Prime Minister, that the price of a cup of coffee costs now over £2, in several cafes?"

"Umm ... not really thought about it, old chap!" Boy David appeared rather disinterested in the conversation.

"Well, Prime Minister, you really should think about it!" The well dressed young man said in urgent tones.

"Whatever for? If people are prepared to pay £2 for a cup of coffee, fine and dandy. If not, then let them go home and make a cup of ... what do they call it ... instant?"  He uttered this in rather patronising tones, I thought.  He had already forgotten his mantra of yesterday - to be charming to all and sundry - no matter how humble, they be!

"It's really rather more important than that, sir! You don't seem to understand, if you'll forgive my  saying so," He added this hastily, when he saw the PM's eyebrows shoot up!

"Really? How so?"

"The hedge fund lads are indulging in vast speculation on commodities.  Recently, it was chocolate, then copper, then wheat..."

"So?   What do you want me to do about it?  You should really be telling George about this, not me."

"Strictly speaking, that's true Prime Minister.  But, it's not just investors and the like who will be affected.  Prices in those commodities will shoot uncontrollably all over the place.   There could even be shortages."

"Ummm .."

"President Nicholas Sarkozy said, 'Speculation in agricultural commodities is nothing more than extortion and pillage'.  Of course, the people in the City don't agree with him - to put it mildly. They say he's Anglo-Saxon bashing again!"

"Probably is!"  Boy David looked bored.   "So why are we having this conversation?  Remind me."

"Well, Labour did nothing about the Banks, did they?  You really don't want the people saying that the Coalition allowed commodity speculators to run rough-shod over everyone and that brought the cost of living to unbelievable heights, do you, Prime Minister?  It wouldn't do us any good in the polls!"

When he heard these last few words, Boy David went quite pale!   He picked up his mobile and yelled, "George! George - get over here ... No! Now!"

I beat a hasty retreat.  I saw the manic look in Boy David's eyes.  If there's one thing he will not have, it is any comparison with the 'hateful' Labour lot!  That's the way to get action from him!

I'll talk to Arturo about these traders.  The name Glencore rings a bell!  Hope they don't start speculating on fish, milk and cat food!

Smile, please, @ No 10

Had a good night's hunting with Arturo, last night. Several large rodents lurking around No 11! Georgy didn't seem to notice them! Strange really, since he's always on the lookout for trouble! It only goes to show that we never see the closest danger! A bit worrying, since he's supposed to be looking after the country's finances.

This morning, when I woke, I heard a persistent mutter coming from the Cabinet Office. Now, I know that Boy David often rehearses his answers before going to the House. This muttering though seemed different. I crept under the table and peeped out. Boy David was standing in front of a small mirror that he'd set up in front of him. He was trying out a variety of facial expressions: big toothy smile: a slight curve of the mouth type smile; a smile and a nod. A small insignificant looking man stood next to him and was writing something down.

"So?" asked Boy David, "Which one?"

"I think the last one, Prime Minister. The nod and smile somehow look more sincere. They give you a very pleasant look."

"Right then, a smile and a nod it is."

"Now, what were you told to repeat to yourself before you stand up to answer each question, Prime Minister?"

"Oh, for God's sake! This is ridiculous!"

"That's not what we were told, sir. We were told it would help you make the right impression on the people."

"I know, I know: 'a good impression means votes.' And we need votes." He seemed to be gritting his teeth together, as he said this.

"So, Prime Minister, what did they tell you to say to yourself?"

Boy David pulled a face, took in a deep breath before saying "Every day, in every way, I shall be nicer and nicer! Every day, in every way, I shall smile whenever I can." He looked at the man. "How's that?"

"Very good, very good indeed, Prime Minister. You won't forget, will you?"

"No! I'll be muttering it whenever I see Clegg or Cable or Lansley!" Boy David swept out of the room and headed for the front door and his car.

Much later in the day, I pattered down the corridor. There was quite a commotion going on in one of the offices. Rather strange, I thought, when the Boss is away it's usually peaceful. I peeped in through the doorway. The tele was on. Nothing interesting like Location, location, location or Escape to the Country. They were watching Parliament. A bald man was standing up and talking very earnestly. I heard someone in the office muttering 'Kaufman! Who spoke to Kaufman?'

No one answered the muttered question. But - everyone looked quite taken aback! It seems someone - no name no pack drill - had given the game away. Whenever anyone gets a letter ostensibly from a real person working at No 10 - it's not a real person. It's a pseudonym! They don't exist!

If I'd been human, not an understairs cat, I'd have giggled. I thought everyone knew that nothing real ever happens at No 10 - it's all in the imagination!

I'm going to get my supper now with Arturo. Lots to tell him!

All Change - apparently - @ No 10

Bad night last night! There was the scratching sound of rats' feet scuttling along the stone patio by the rose garden! There must have been a tea party there in the afternoon. No - not the Sarah Palin sort of tea party! Just a good old-fashioned English tea party with scones, cream and strawberry jam. Of course, that meant crumbs - and what do crumbs mean? Yes - rats!

Strange how it mirrors the political life here at No 10. Crumbs are all Wailing Lad Clegg will be getting, from now on! That's if he's lucky! Before, he had the full cream tea, so to speak. Lashings of sweet promises from the mouths of Boy David, Georgy from No 11 and from old IDS himself. Danny Alexander, the wunderkind PR lad from bonny Scotland, was showered with praise and told 'what a clever boy you are'. he certainly had honey for his tea!

Ah! Those were the days! But they're gone now! No more Mr Nice Guy from Boy David or Georgy. They have the proverbial whip-hand now! Someone, I think it was David Davies or Andrew Rawnsley, maybe it was Rawnsley himself, said that the LibDems were sitting in the best seats on the plane but they didn't have a parachute. So why on earth would they want to end the Coalition? The Tories have it made.

Since, as you know, I've never been in a plane, let alone had a parachute, the analogy was lost on me, at first. Arturo, he who knows all, explained it to me and I saw the point.

The LibDems, under Wailing Lad Clegg, know that the next election spells the end for them - as a party and individual MPs. So, hey boys, why not enjoy it while the Coalition is still intact. A few appropriate frowns here and there; a strangled cry of pain once in a while; even the odd victory in the House - these will be the future for those LibDems who are in Ministerial jobs. And why not? Do I hear you ask? Enjoy it while you've got it and to hell with the rank and file.

After all, nearly everyone in high office, in this government, is an ex-PR man (sorry person) and a PR person may not know much but he/she does know where his/her bread is buttered.

So - there will be more tea-parties in the lovely No 10 rose garden - but things won't ever be quite the same as they were before last week!

Count your fingers @ No 10

There's yet another strange feeling here in No 10. Boy David has matured rather suddenly, in the last few weeks. He was, as you know, an inexperienced PR man before being catapulted into the hot seat. Of course, he had a head start being an old Etonian. Eton, so I'm reliably told by Arturo, prepares its boys to take charge of wherever or whatever position in which they may find themselves. This might be a large business, a bank, a casino or a manure heap! Not quite sure where Downing Street lies on that scale.

Anyway, the successes he achieved last week have somewhat changed the Boy David. He walks with more of a swagger. He looks less for approval from the eyes of others than was his wont. Wailing Lad Clegg is going to find that the going will be much tougher from now on. No more friendly pats on the back; no more nodding grins; all that is over! Now, it's strictly business not strictly come dancing.

How do I know all this, you ask? Well, I sat quietly in the corner, not even a flick of the jolly old tail, I may tell you! Why all this subterfuge? What was I observing? Well, I was watching one Andrew Rawnsley giving his opinion on the tele, with the aid of others, about the 'marriage' of convenience which is the Coalition. Very edifying it was too! Mr Cable looked suitably dismayed, yet disdainful! Mr Davies looked amused and above it all. Danny Alexander looked as if he didn't really know who he was or where he was. Boy David gave the impression he was next in line to the Queen. Wailing Lad came over as likeable but totally gormless. He resembled a child at the centre of a tall maze who cannot find the way out.

Where did I watch this programme? Why in one of the offices in No 10! Boy David wasn't watching but two flunkies were. Then, when it was all over, they laughed.

"Great life, if you don't weaken, eh?" The tall thin one said.

"Did you hear what that LibDem peer said about shaking hands with a Tory?" A rather florid looking chap asked.

"No."

"He said, if you shake hands with a Tory, you'd better count your fingers afterwards!" great guffaws of laughter!

"Oh! That is good, very good. I'll have to remember that."

Just then, I smelled fish coming from the kitchen, so I backed away and nipped down the corridor. But, I took the lesson. If a Tory Minister ever stoops to stroke me, I'll make sure my tail is still in place!

Therapy, anyone @ No 10

I was down in the kitchen, well before breakfast. The cook, who has taken rather a shine to me, gave me a bowl of milk and some left-over sardines. Very tasty! I was about to have a kip when I heard the sound of the Boss's footsteps coming along the corridor.

Boy David, still feeling very pleased with himself from the local elections and AV results, was confronted by a new face early in the morning. He smiled politely and asked who he was.

"Oh! Didn't they tell you? I'm your therapist." A tall gaunt man who spoke almost in a whisper responded.

"Therapist? What sort of therapist?" Boy David looked genuinely surprised. "I wasn't aware I needed any physiotherapy. Haven't done anything physically energetic for simply ages." He gave a somewhat nervous laugh.

"I'm er ...I'm not a physiotherapist, Prime Minister. I suppose I'm more of a psycho-therapist."

"A psychotherapist?" Boy David's voice went up a pitch or two. "A psychotherapist! I certainly don't need any of your treatment!"

"I'm not supposed to be treating, exactly, Prime Minister, I'm giving you the confidence to stand your ground. To ensure that when you talk to Mr Clegg, you are the assertive you that has been rather hidden when you're in his company."

"Who on earth asked you to see me? I certainly didn't! Samantha didn't. So, who was it?" Boy David seemed to be losing his cool.

The man coughed and looked down at his feet. "Several of the, let's say, more right wing members of your Cabinet have hired me, Prime Minister. They told me that there's a rumour that unless you are more assertive, to quote them, 'you'll go down the pan!'. They want to avoid that and they think I can help."

I watched Boy David's face. It was quite a picture. To say he looked gobsmacked would not be doing justice to the expression. "Well, I don't want any of your therapy, Mr whoever-you-are! I'd like you to leave."

"Not even one session, Prime Minister?"

"Not even one session, thank you."

Mr whoever-he-was left with a grin. I happen to know that he had already been paid a hefty great fee on a 'no-persuasion-still-fee' basis. So, to put it mildly, it was no skin off his nose.

I watched Boy David. For a moment or two he sat quietly thinking then he grinned, then he laughed loudly. "Bloody fools," he said under his breath. "Even my own lot don't really know me. The inner Flashman is doing very nicely thank you, without any therapy. Besides, since my left hand doesn't know what my right hand is doing, why the hell should any therapist? The more docile they think I am, the better for me."

I slunk back into the kitchen and onto the cushion the cook has put out for me near the aga. I lay down and pondered. He's a devious so-and-so is our Boy David. Such smiles, such charm, such winning ways; beneath it all though - there's a ruthless streak that would make old Thatcher shudder. After all, you don't get to be leader of the Tory Party by being just plain nice, do you? And you don't even become a Tory by thinking of the welfare of others around you. So, really, it all fits together. Things are going to get a bit rougher round here. Sounds like fun. I must tell Arturo!

Unbridled Joy @ No 10

Boy David had one of those satisfied grins on his face, this morning. He greeted all and sundry with a chirpy, 'Good Morning'. The emphasis was very much on the 'Good'. He caught sight of my tail and instead of giving a feigned sideways kick at it, as he usually does, he just ignored me. Something's up, I thought to myself!

Several secretaries and hangers-on greeted him in like cheerful manner.

"Well done, Prime Minister."

"Marvellous result, Prime Minister!"

I could go on, but you get the gist! Everyone seemed as pleased as Punch! I thought this rather strange. After all, they - being the Tories - hadn't done that well. Labour had done really well, so Arturo told me. The Lib Dems had done very, very badly!

Now - I thought our Boy David headed up a Coalition. So, if your partner in the Coalition does very badly - that can't be good news - or can it?

There was much whispering in the back room:

"Well, now they can't do anything to stop us, can they? They won't want an election - they'd all be out on their backsides!" One refined lady said!

"That Cable chap will have to hold his tongue now." Another woman said.

"Yes - but can we shut that loud-mouth Ashdown up?"

"Who cares about him?" A man guffawed loudly!

Through the front door came Wailing Lad Clegg. Today, he really did have something to wail about, I thought. He did look pale but there were no signs of wailing. In fact, I think I detected a steely look in those eyes of his. What surprised me was the way he was greeted!

"I say, old chap, what a disappointing night!" A clap on his back. "Never mind though. It was only the local elections!"

"So sorry, Nick, you mustn't feel down about it. It's always those in Government who get kicked in the local elections!"

I saw Clegg open his mouth to say something - but he obviously thought better of it! he left soon after. I hope Miriam had cooked him a hearty breakfast.

Boy David grinned and turned to some sycophantic chap: "Funny, you know, we're the Government but no one's punished us. It's really useful having a Coalition partner. We must try it again!" They both roared with laughter!

Only the 'Yes' 'No' vote results to come now. Boy David seems quite relaxed about that too!

It's all go @ No 10.

Everything going mad here at No 10.  It's polling day! No - not polling day to kick out my boss but polling day for 'Yes' or 'No'!   Boy David is smiling at all and sundry!  Grinning at his reflection in the hall mirror!

'Don't count your chickens!' I'd say!   The great British public is fickle and you never know ...   But Boy David and his pals are pretty confident.   There'll be no living with them, if they do get their 'No' vote!   Wailing Lad Clegg hasn't surfaced yet!   I just hope the 'Yes' vote does better than predicted.  I don't fancy Clegg and Cable's chances of holding their heads up, if the vote goes bad for them.

But - there is bad news for Boy David and his lot.   A survey of GPs has just been reported by the Press Association.   Bad reading for Cameron and Co!  GPs are under "strain", "46% suffer stress", 19% are "anxious" and 7% suffer from "depression".   71% thought the Government's health Bill had "slightly damaged" or "greatly damaged" their morale.   Yet other GPs want to get out before "the blighters" got hold of their pensions and they have decided to retire.

Wow! and Wow! again!   These, Boy David are the people who are the first port of call for the health of all humans in the UK!  Being a cat, I have no such issues.   I have the Blue Cross, the PDSA and the RSPCA!  Great guys and girls all!  But you humans!  Well, Boy David - time to think of shuffling off of that front bench of yours that wily, old, silver fox called Lansley.  Otherwise, when you next catch a cold - who's going to be left for you to consult?

Blimey! @ No 10!

'Yes'. 'No'. 'Yes'. 'No'. 'Yes'. 'No'.

Blimey, I thought, it's worse than watching Wimbledon! I've seen Wimbledon on the tele and instead of watching the players, I like to watch the crowd. Heads look left. Heads look right. Heads look left ... You get the gist?

Well, here at No 10 it hasn't been balls flying over a net that caused the heads to turn. It was the thunderous tones of Boy David fairly shouting 'No', followed by Wailing Lad Clegg shouting 'Yes'.

I tell you, it fair made my head spin. I got so shaken up that I called Arturo, from No 11, to come and see. Then, what do you think? In pranced Georgy looking very pleased with himself. He fixed Wailing Lad with a long hard stare: "You lot are going to lose!" He almost sneered.

Clegg looked him straight in the eye and said: "Oh no, we won't! People are fed up with your lot getting their hands on safe seats." He stood up straight and looked very admirable, I thought.

So - now I understood what all this 'yes-ing' and 'no-ing' was all about. AV! That's what!

Do you want the old tried 'first past the post' system of voting? Or do you want to be fair and put your marker by several candidates in order of preference?

"What do you think, Arturo?" I whispered.

"Well, Butch, if you ask me would I like smoked salmon, cream of chicken or rat. I'd put smoked salmon as 1; rat as 2; cream chicken as 3. Then you and/or Larry would have your vote on the same menu. If all of us voted smoked salmon - that'd be fine. Smoked salmon it would be. If only 2 of us voted for smoked salmon - that would still be fine. But if each of us had a different top of the list - then there'd be trouble."

By then, my head was spinning. The thought of smoked salmon and cream chicken fair set my mouth watering. But then my reverie was broken by another man, called Huhne, coming in. He was very, very cross indeed with Boy David and Georgy. He said they didn't play fair!

I tell you - if they had been cats, their hair would have stood on end, their tails would be waving and they'd all be hissing. There'd surely be one big cat fight! But, they ain't cats! So, they just glared at each other, turned around and walked in different directions.

"They call this a coalition, Butch! Funny sort of coalition, if you ask me!"

I agreed. Dread to think how things will be when the result is known on Friday! No more yes-ing and no-ing but could be a whole lot of spitting and scratching!

Just browsing @ No 10

Lots of comings and goings last night and today; important looking men in uniform; important looking women with stern faces. So, I skedaddled out of the way and found a cosy corner in the library where the sun shone onto a soft velvet seat. Lucky old me, I thought. No politics today for me. Then my eye caught sight of the word 'Economic'. My! My! I must tell Arturo that one of Georgy's journals has found its way in here.

I decided to paw through the pages! Very interesting! Very, very interesting! This journal, called 'Economic Affairs', was all about 'Britain losing out through irrational gambling laws'. Irrational gambling laws! What's irrational about the Gambling Act?

So, my friends, I read on. I read:

In a study published in its termly journal Economic Affairs, the Institute of Economic Affairs shows how other countries are reaping the reward of liberalising their gambling laws, and how relaxing gambling regulation could be the factor which saves many of Britain’s struggling pubs. The study also contends that gambling is over-regulated in the UK because it is seen as purely harmful – the converse is true.

Blimey, I thought to myself, I must tell my cousin, Hi-Tail Tom, all about this. He got his name because he was always hi-tailing it out of the casino whose name I will not mention but you'll find it in Mayfair. He watched the 'suckers', as he called them, placing their chips on red or black or anything. They always lost, he said.

Then, the floor manager got to thinking that old Hi-Tail Tom was some sort of a jinx on the Club. First, they shooed him away. Then, they tried to poison him! But he wasn't called 'Hi-Tail' for nothing! He outwitted the lot of them.

He told me that, 'Gambling, Butch my son, is a mug's game. And you and me, we ain't no mugs'.

Yet, now I read:

Britain is losing out. The benefits being reaped by other countries are clear to see, yet the stigma and myths that surround gambling in this country prevent us from relaxing our laws to maximise economic gain.

“The amount of freedom afforded to gambling in the UK is nowhere near enough. We desperately need to encourage economic growth; liberalising our gambling laws would be a simple way to help achieve it.”

It sounds like a recipe for disaster to me. The only winners will be the bookies and casino owners! The losers will be the poor 'suckers' who are buying a dream!

I pushed the journal onto the floor and under a big gap under the skirting-board. We wouldn't want our Georgy, from next door, to see that, would we? Might give him ideas.

Bank Holiday @ No 10

Quite amazing! There's a hush all over No 10. The Boss, his wife, the kids are all away! Don't even know where our Larry is. Wondered if he'd been taken in his sumptuous cat basket to the country retreat.

You see all the toffs and their pets have a country retreat to go to when the plebs, the 'funny hats', the hoi polloi come into town; and they certainly do on a Bank Holiday! I think it's because they can't bear to rub shoulders with them.

This would be especially the case for Boy David, Samantha, Georgy and his wife the Hon. Frances Victoria Howell, Nick Clegg and Miriam Gonzalez Durantez. Why, you ask? Well, they rubbed shoulders with Royalty on Friday. It's hard to come down to earth with a bump on Saturday - so it's 'off to the sticks', as they say.

Meanwhile, Arturo and I have had a great time! Remember the street party in Downing Street with old Warsi and Barbara Windsor in tow? Well, they were a messy bunch. Crumbs all over the place. We cleared up some of it. But joy of joys! There were loads of mice and rats who had the same idea. A Feast? I ask you!!

Still, it's all back to normal tomorrow! - Wrong! Boy David has arrived back for a special emergency meeting tonight!