Larry, the gray-and-white tabby known as Chief Mouser at 10 Downing Street, just marked 15 years in residence and continues to be a steady, charming presence in the heart of British politics. This piece looks at his unusual duties, his knack for photo-bombing, his social media persona, and his place in a long human-cat relationship that stretches from practical pest control to cultural affection. Along the way we preserve key quoted observations about why a cat can represent stability in turbulent political times, and we keep the original quoted passages intact.
Term limits make sense for people in power, but some figures — even animal ones — earn staying power through usefulness and public affection. Larry has been more than a mascot; he’s the official rodent-catcher at the prime minister’s residence, and his continued presence speaks to how small, steady routines can feel reassuring when everything else changes. He arrived at Downing Street in 2011 after being adopted from a London shelter and has since become a recognizable fixture of the compound.
In turbulent political times, stability comes with four legs, whiskers and a fondness for napping.
Larry the cat celebrates 15 years on Sunday as the British government’s official rodent-catcher and unofficial first feline, a reassuring presence who has served under six prime ministers. Sometimes it seems like they have served under him.
“Larry the cat’s approval ratings will be very high,” said Philip Howell, a Cambridge University professor who has studied the history of human-animal relations. “And prime ministers tend not to hit those numbers.
“He represents stability, and that’s at a premium.”
The gray-and-white tabby’s rags-to-riches story has taken him from stray on the streets to Britain’s seat of power, 10 Downing St., where he bears the official title Chief Mouser to the Cabinet Office.
Adopted from London’s Battersea Dogs and Cats Home by then-Prime Minister David Cameron, Larry entered Downing Street on Feb. 15, 2011. According to a profile on the U.K. government website, his duties include “greeting guests to the house, inspecting security defenses and testing antique furniture for napping quality.”
Those duties are practical and symbolic: he hunts vermin, but he also greets visitors and inspects the place in his own feline way. The job description — half official, half affectionate — captures why the public latches on to such an animal figure. Larry’s role reminds people that even the most buttoned-down institutions let a bit of personality into their public face.
He handles the basics well, and the public seems inclined to reward competence with affection. Larry’s long tenure across multiple administrations has made him a continuity figure, one that can be joked about and admired at once. He’s become an accessible, almost humanizing element amid political drama.
Larry also has a presence online and in front of cameras that extends his influence beyond the gates of Downing Street. He maintains a social media footprint that gives people a way to follow day-to-day antics, and he’s developed a reputation for stepping into moments photographers and officials might rather control. Those little interruptions are part of his charm.
Photographers and staff have learned that Larry will turn up at opportune moments and often steals the scene with a nonchalant entrance. Justin Ng, a photographer who has followed him, said, “He’s great at photo-bombing.” That behavior has led to some memorable diplomatic moments when world leaders meet in front of the famous doorstep. The image of a cat casually crossing the stage while dignitaries pose has become part of modern Downing Street lore.
“He’s great at photo-bombing,” said Justin Ng, a freelance photographer who has come to know Larry well over the years. “If there’s a foreign leader that’s about to visit then we know he’ll just come out at the exact moment that meet-and-greet is about to happen.”
Larry has met many world leaders, who sometimes have to step around or over him. It has been observed that he is largely unfriendly to men, though he took a liking to former U.S. President Barack Obama, and he drew a smile from President Volodymyr Zelenskyy on one of the Ukrainian leader’s visits to London.
When U.S. President Donald Trump visited in 2019, Larry crashed the official doorstep photo and then took a nap under the Beast, the president’s armored car.
Cats’ relationship with humans is complex and ancient, rooted in a mutual exchange of benefits more than full domestication. Wildcats learned to tolerate human settlements because they could hunt the rodents attracted to grain and shelter. Over time, that arrangement produced the household companion we know today, independent and useful in its own way.
But the Cat keeps his side of the bargain too. He will kill mice and he will be kind to Babies when he is in the house, just as long as they do not pull his tail too hard. But when he has done that, and between times, and when the moon gets up and night comes, he is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him. Then he goes out to the Wet Wild Woods or up the Wet Wild Trees or on the Wet Wild Roofs, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild lone.
Larry’s story is straightforward: a shelter cat who found a singular job and an audience, and who has made the most of both. He continues to patrol the residence, nap on antique chairs, and occasionally remind politicians that some things remain delightfully unpredictable. His tenure shows how a small, steady creature can become woven into the public imagination in a way that no memo or press release ever could.
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