I am rather disappointed that less than two weeks after the excitement that was the Scottish Referendum, UK politics has gone back to be mainly blah again. Last week Ed Milliband forgot to mention the deficit in his main speech at the Labuour Party Conference. Jon Snow grilled him with barely concealed exasperation, like a public school house master who is getting very tired of this student who continues to dither. I have some sympathy with Ed. I threw precious marks away in my finals when I was so confident in what should have been my best paper that I put all the frills into my essay but failed to include the main points. Something that occurred to me about ten minutes outside the exam hall and literally stopped me in my tracks. George Osborne, who I am still not convinced is a real person, gave a speech today where people on benefits were warned of more cuts, because we cannot ‘tax our way out of difficulty’. That’s not exactly what he said, but I didn’t have a notebook beside me and am not prepared to watch the speech again. It translates as ‘we shall leave people with money alone because they have power and influence and can make our lives uncomfortable. Also, we have money too, and cannot conceive of what it must be like to not have choices. Therefore those of you who fall into that category are not like us and do not qualify as human beings worthy of our sympathy and attention’. A few weeks ago someone wrote a long but brilliant piece in the Guardian about the City of London’s rôle in our country. We, as voters in a supposedly democratic country, think we choose our government and that our government is ultimately accountable to us. Step forward the City. The government is accountable to the City. Another interesting, but frankly depressing piece, was about how the country’s assets have been sold off; many now in the hands of other countries. We are effectively tenants in our our own land. So how did this get me to cats? Well. If you know me, or if you have followed this blog for a few years you will know that I adored Cat. He adopted me, opened my eyes to the pleasure of feline company, and made me reassess their position in relation to dogs. I should previously have classified myself as a Dog Lover. Actually, I should still classify myself as a Dog Lover. Nothing expresses joy in the world like a dog. Dogs are amazing, wonderful creatures who enhance our lives, give generously, empathise, protect us and remind us that loyalty can be bought by a sausage. But my full affiliation is to Dogs and Cats. I like rabbits too, and donkeys. I had a lovely nose rub with a horse yesterday. Cows and sheep and goats are much maligned, and who could fail to fall for hens who look like they are riding bicycles when they stalk across the grass? Well, probably George Osborne. But then he’s possibly an alien from one of the nastier planets. I still seem some way from the point. As I was saying, I adored Cat. He was a wonderful boy, a huge character, a cat for all seasons. But when I hear people say they wish their pets could talk, I demur. Cat would have voted for UKIP, or a feline equivalent thereof. I have no doubt that he would have been a huge admirer of Margaret Thatcher. He would probably have ensconced himself in her handbag and gone walkabout with her, hurling insults at cats who thought differently to him. He might even have read the Daily Mail. No, I think our communication was better how it was. MasterB, a gentler soul, would probably have been dismissed as a Wet by both the Blessed Margaret (wouldn’t a Norman St John Stevas be a welcome relief among our dull politicians?) and Cat. I am not sure he’d be Milliband’s cat; he might be seduced by Nick Clegg’s sad eyes. Nigel Farage would make him run a mile. I can’t see him warming to BoJo either. So he’s probably a floating voter; looking for the party that promises fairness and non-violence. Maybe Larry the Number 10 cat could give him some advice. And yet. Larry, having been close to government for quite a while now must have had his ideals adjusted, if not shattered. I imagine he’s quite cynical about the whole thing, especially his mousing. But MasterB? He hasn’t got a cynical bone in his body. I reckon he’d do better with a quiet session with Dick Whittington’s cat. Any feline who can appear in pantomimes must have a strong sense of self, and an even stronger sense of the ridiculous. The real Whittington, rather than the pantomime version, four times Lord Mayor of the City of London, seems to have been an engaged man with philanthropic tendencies. Perhaps his cat learned a thing or three from his example. Even if it is only to look behind you from time to time.