The Quest Of The Cat

I'm very sorry that I haven't written from the lovely Kingdom of Northumbria recently. My only explanation (and you must take it or leave it, according to your inclination) is that your Cat has been on a Special Hunting Expedition. Not, I might hasten to add, the usual quarry of small rodents and birds, but for a rather special species of creature known to inhabit the rare wastelands of the Northumbrian political system. Yes, I've been hunting for Liberationists. So far, my quest has been fruitless. It's been a complete waste of time.

To refresh your memory, dear reader, I must explain that Liberationists are relatively uncommon political animals that are reputed to resemble human beings; they exert a disproportionate amount of influence over the Administration which currently supervises the tyranny of the long-suffering Northumbrian taxpaying electorate. One of the great and unresolved mysteries of the human world is what these creatures actually do - and by which principles they operate.

Ever since their beloved tribal chieftain Blaeck Legge conveniently forgot his solemn vow and undertaking before the Northumbrian populace to resist any increases in kindergarten fees, thus throwing his lot wholeheartedly with the Tree Faction, the Liberationist cause has suffered inestimable damage to its already nonexistent credibility. Whereas many Northumbrians out of boredom, disillusionment, desperation and biscuit had previously opined that a Liberationist Faction Administration might provide an infinitely better one than the tired dichotomy of the Redistributionist/Tree seesaw, it only took about thirty milliseconds for such expectations to evaporate. From that time hence, things for the Liberationists have accelerated from bad to irrevocably hopeless.

In view of Hune the Horehound's recent lapse from grace to the loving embrace of a Northumbrian oubliette (where he rubs shoulders with less refined criminals as well as elderly ladies who've been incarecerated for - horribile dictu - allowing their pet dogs to deposit their brown hundreds and thousands on the streets of the Realm), one might reasonable expect the Liberationists to take a low profile. Coupled with the unpleasantly priapic stories surrounding the corpulent Earl Renege - reputed to have been a devotee disciple of the late and sadly unlamented Beeby See protege Ine Sovile, these events have hardly been good news. But the Horehound's Beastleigh seat in the Witangemot is now up for grabs, so one might naively expect that the Liberationists might unite in a common cause to fly their banner and hold the seat.

However, so far their voice has been ominously silent. Feaxede the Fox has told me that he believes that they've been hunted to extinction, and has promised to take me to the place where their bones are scattered. I'm rather doubtful about his hypothesis; he's an expert on chicken bones, but that's about the extent of his understanding. My inclination is to believe that they've succumbed to a new and virulent strain of the Stupid Disease. And I reckon the Trees and Redistributionists are prime candidates for the next infection..