The Daily Telegraph

Pity the hapless mouse left to the tormenting wiles of a crafty cat

- By Michael Deacon

No question about it. If Emily Thornberry were an animal, she’d be a cat. The air of feline superiorit­y. The stately, sauntering grandeur. The preening insoucianc­e. The slow, sleek, unsettling smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone quite so supremely, serenely, imperiousl­y catlike. I bet no one in her office dare open a newspaper in case she comes along and curls up on it.

Yesterday, both Jeremy Corbyn and Theresa May were absent from PMQS. The Labour leader’s place was taken by Ms Thornberry. The Prime Minister’s, meanwhile, was taken by Damian Green, the First Secretary. In one sense at least, it felt appropriat­e. Because, in the presence of the cat, Mr Green turned into a mouse. Hesitant, nervy, cautious – and, at the first sign of danger, skittering in circles, dodging in and out of table legs, and desperatel­y hunting for a hole in which to dart, tiny lungs heaving, for refuge.

The Speaker called the cat by name. In leisurely fashion, she rose.

“Let me first congratula­te Prince Harry and Meghan Markle on their engagement,” she said, pausing archly before her punchline. “That’s one Anglo-american couple who we’ll be delighted to see holding hands.”

Labour MPS chortled at the memory of Mrs May’s peculiar encounter with Donald Trump. The cat bathed briefly in their admiration, and then resumed. “I’m sure Prince Harry, as the patron of Rugby Football League, will be supporting England in the World Cup final,” she drawled. “I for one will, of course, be waving my St George’s flag.”

Three years ago, the cat was forced to resign from Labour’s front bench after appearing to mock a voter for decking his house in the St George’s flag. This, then, was a joke at the cat’s own expense. Creditable, although it must be said she has a curious ability to make self-deprecatio­n sound like self-congratula­tion. At last the cat turned to her prey. “Before I get on with my questions, Mr Speaker,” she said, teasingly, “could I ask [Mr Green] a simple point of principle: is he happy to be held to the same standards in government that he required of others when he was in opposition?”

MPS murmured. Mr Green has been accused of making sexual advances to a Tory activist. He denies the allegation. But was this question, MPS were clearly wondering, an ominous allusion to it?

Mr Green must have been wondering this, too, because he floundered. “I think, er, all, er, ministers, er, should, er, respect and obey the ministeria­l code, er,” he said. The cat smiled.

“Mr Speaker, [Mr Green] looked rather perturbed at my line of questionin­g,” she purred. “But he needn’t worry – I really am not going ‘there’.”

Instead, she explained innocently, her question was about the NHS. The mouse was no doubt relieved – yet he never recovered his composure.

It’s often the way with cats. Rather than kill their prey, they toy with it.

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