Wednesday 10th September 2026
Serafina arrived at the Mindfulness Meeting this evening carrying a newspaper and wearing a look of smug satisfaction.
“What did I tell you?” she announced.
Sensing that this wasn’t a question, I looked at the newspaper and saw a picture of Chris Hipkins alongside another picture of a cat being held by a man wearing a hat that said DOCTOR STRANGE.
Assuming this was something to do with the cat, I said, “Am I supposed to know this cat?”
“Well, he’s clearly an F.C.K. representative,” said Serafina triumphantly.
I had almost forgotten about Felines for Compassion and Kindness. F.C.K. was the organisation Serafina had dreamed up last month after I decided not to offer my services as Chief Mouser at the Beehive. The idea, as I understood it, was to provide emotional support to overwrought politicians. This would involve purring during leadership challenges, providing companionship after bad polling and, in extreme circumstances, sitting on politicians until they stopped talking. I hadn’t heard anything more about it and had assumed I could file the whole thing away along with the rest of Serafina’s ill-advised campaigns. I probably should have known better.
Addressing the group, Serafina went on to say that Labour Party leader Chris Hipkins had held the first public meeting of his election campaign in Naenae yesterday. More than a hundred humans had attended along with a cat.
“How do you know that this cat is a member of F.C.K.? I didn’t think it had even been formed …” My voice trailed off as I saw the disappointment on her face. “Yet.”
“Better starts now,” she said firmly.
I looked around at the others. Winston was here of course, along with Smokey O’Neill, Cookie and Hypo. Everyone seemed as mystified as I was by this seemingly random statement.
“What??” we said in unison.
“Better starts now. We can’t sit around talking about helping politicians. We have to actually do something.”
Smokey O’Neill reached for the inevitable notebook and started thumbing through it.
“I can’t see a cat called Doctor Strange registered on the F.C.K. list.”
“What else would a cat be doing at a political meeting?” hissed Serafina.
I could think of several possibilities, most of them involving food but Serafina wasn’t interested.
Apparently Mr Hipkins had not been doing particularly well in the polls recently which, according to Serafina, made him exactly the sort of person F.C.K. had been established to help.
“He must be under enormous pressure,” she said, adopting her Most Compassionate Look.
Mr Darcy, who had just arrived from Purau, put a stop to the talking immediately.
“I’m sorry,” he said, glaring intently at the newspaper. “Was an Emergency F.C.K. Implementation Meeting formally convened? I don’t appear to have received the appropriate notification.”
We all listened while Serafina explained the situation once more for the benefit of Mr Darcy.
“What makes you think this isn’t just a stray cat looking for food?” he asked.
Serafina ignored this and went on to say that Chris Hipkins would be holding public meetings around the country and that our first priority should be to find out when he was coming to Christchurch.
“Surely he’s not going to come to Diamond Harbour,” I said, secretly hoping he wasn’t and that we could all forget about this hare-brained scheme.
“No, but if he’s in Christchurch then F.C.K. should have a representative there.”
Mr Darcy shifted slightly.
“I think we need to exercise a certain degree of caution here. There is a considerable difference between providing non-partisan emotional support and becoming directly involved in an election campaign.”
“We wouldn’t be involved in the campaign,” said Serafina. “We’d be providing emotional support.”
“To one particular party leader. Once one has established a precedent of providing emotional support to a particular candidate, one has to consider the implications of not providing equivalent support to all the others.”
“But he hasn’t been polling well and he obviously seems to like having cats at his meetings,” Serafina persisted.
“But we can’t just turn up at a political meeting and sit on the Leader of the Opposition!” I said.
“We could stand on him,” suggested Mr Darcy.
I had the distinct impression that he would have preferred F.C.K.’s first ‘client’ to be somebody else. He would never have said so though as he had always maintained that he was completely impartial in political matters.
Meanwhile Hypo had completely missed the gravity of the situation.
“What about Opportunities?”
We all turned and stared at her.
“I love the salmon ones with the creamy centres,” she said dreamily.
“They’re Temptations, Hypo,” cut in Cookie. “I like those ones too, but I think they’ve stopped making the …” Her voice trailed away as she saw the stormy look on Serafina’s face.
“I refuse to give any support to a party that has previously promoted a policy saying humans should never replace their cats when they die,” she said vehemently. “Don’t you know what the person who started the Opportunities Party tweeted when Paddles died?”
“No. Who is Paddles?” said Hypo.
“Jacinda’s cat!” screeched Serafina, who seemed to be building up a head of steam. “The man essentially victim-blamed a feline icon!”
“I think we’re getting slightly off-piste,” sighed Mr Darcy.
“If F.C.K. is going to have representation at this meeting,” said Smokey O’Neill, once again thumbing through his notes, “which one of us is it going to be?”
Cookie fluffed up her fur and sat up straighter.
“I’ll go.”
“No,” said Serafina, giving her a pitying look.
Cookie’s ears dropped.
“Why not?”
“Fur,” she replied. “We can’t have the official F.C.K. representative shedding all over the Leader of the Opposition. It would look unprofessional.”
“I can’t help shedding,” said Cookie, looking deflated.
“Of course you can’t,” said Serafina kindly. “Nobody is blaming you.”
Smokey opened his notebook again.
“So it’s essential that the appointed F.C.K. representative be a non-shedder?”
“Well, that counts me out,” said Mr Darcy, giving a very inauthentic-looking smile.
Since Mr Darcy was a short-haired tabby, I doubted the truthfulness of this statement, but it was probably for the best.
“Non-shedding,” said Smokey O’Neill, ticking off names on his list. “That leaves Serafina, Weasley and Winston.”
“Not me,” said Winston. “I’ve been very clear about that.”
“Clear about what?” said Hypo.
“I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell you people this,” said Winston. “I will not work with Chris Hipkins.”
I wasn’t entirely sure why he felt like this but apparently it was important to Winston that there should be no ambiguity about it.
Smokey looked at his notebook.
“That leaves Serafina and Weasley.”
Everyone looked at me.
“No,” I said firmly. “My anxiety levels are rising just thinking about making the journey to Christchurch. An emotional support cat that’s more overwrought than the person it’s meant to be giving emotional support to, isn’t going to be much use at all!”
Everyone (including me) seemed to be having difficulty making sense of my last statement. It was Serafina who spoke first.
“But Weasley—”
“Larry told me not to get involved in politics.”
That stopped her. Nobody could argue with Larry the Cat of 10 Downing Street. Well, Serafina probably could but even she knew it would be unwise to do so in front of me.
Smokey drew a line through my name.
“That leaves Serafina.”
There was a brief silence. Serafina looked smugly around the meeting as though this was what she had been hoping for all along.
“Well,” she said eventually, trying to make it sound as though her arm was being twisted, “if that’s the democratic outcome.”
“Strictly speaking I don’t think an uncontested appointment can reasonably be described as a democratic outcome,” said Mr Darcy.
Only Cookie looked disappointed.
“I still think I’d be good at it.”
“You would,” Serafina assured her. “But we have to consider the wider interests of F.C.K.”
“And Chris Hipkins’s clothes,” I said.
“Yes.”
Mr Darcy put his head in his paws. Smokey had already started another page in his notebook.
“Our next priority is to obtain Chris Hipkins’s campaign schedule and establish when he’ll be in Christchurch,” he said. “We need to make sure F.C.K. is ready to respond when needed.”
I pointed out that nobody had actually asked for F.C.K.’s assistance.
“That’s the trouble with emotional support,” said Serafina. “Sometimes people don’t realise they need it until it arrives.”
Smokey, who was still looking through his notes, suddenly raised a paw.
“Apparently Mr Hipkins said yesterday that he’s just getting warmed up.”
Serafina’s expression changed immediately.
“There you are,” she said. “He’s not warm enough.”
“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” said Mr Darcy.
Serafina was already heading home.
“Where are you going?” I called after her.
“To find out when he’s coming to Christchurch.”
“But—”
“Better starts now, Weasley!”
I decided not to point out that, judging by the look on Serafina’s face, Chris Hipkins was about to get considerably more emotional support than he had bargained for.
I wondered if Serafina would make front page news.