SIR Eric and Coco Jubilee Special

So, it's a big day for Britain: The Man's going away on a long-haul holiday soon and I'm going to have the run of the place. Apparently, it's also something called the Diamond Jubilee.

Now, as all of you well know, I'm not terribly fond of People. Yes, they feed me, and tickle my tummy, and pay my ludicrously high health insurance premiums, but I do believe that I'm allergic to them (yes, it works the other way round, too, you know). I am, however, rather fond of that nice Lady called The Queen. I am, I suppose, what you might call a Republican't.

Oh, how I hope Her Majesty will one day see sense and get rid of those silly corgis to make room for an adorably handsome and clever cat... like me. Sometimes, I think I'm living a tragic fairytale, in which I was born in Buckingham Palace, before getting lost as a kitten and ending up with The Man. Fortunately, while I am getting on a bit now, there is still time for a happy ending.

Can you imagine me curled up on The Throne? I'd look quite magnificent, don't you think? Of course, I'd probably need a diamond collar so I don't clash with the Crown, and an ermine rug so I don't leave hairs on the red velvet cushions. A title might help, too. Arise, Sir Eric!

The Royals surely have a mouse problem, what with all those castles and palaces and towers. After all, 'Call Me Dave' Cameron has Larry to keep Number 10 mouse-free; surely The Queen seeks similar. I wouldn't let her down.

Ultimately, however, being a Royal Pet is about grace, and poise, and intelligence – Coco need not apply – qualities that I have in spades.

But it must also be about pomp and pageantry (People love that stuff). Come to think of it, if ever I want to be noticed for the Royal Cat I surely am, perhaps I should get planning and stage my very own Jubileeric™. Any takers?

Miaow for now!

COMMONER Coco

Dear Readers,

Her Majesty the Queen has been on the throne for 60 glorious years. As another one of our most distinguished servants, Baroness Thatcher, once cried at the sinking of the Belgrano (or was it the winning of the Falklands War?) 'Rejoice!'

And believe me, Ma'am, I am. If I may speak on behalf of my readers, so are we all. We are all rejoicing that this sceptr'd isle has had the incredible good fortune to have had you as sovereign for the past six decades.

Not only are you exceptionally good at what you do, seeing off sundry namby-pamby wet-behind-the-ears Prime Ministers. Not only do you turn out rain or shine, always with a kind word for the little girl with the bouquet and bobby socks. But above all, you have an overarching sense of duty: duty not just to God, and country, to your armed services, to your Government, and to all your subjects, here and overseas, but also, of course, to horses and dogs. You are Queen, if I might say so, of the animal kingdom, too.

I even suspect that you might have that shining quality that some of the best human beings share – I am thinking of course of Deborah Devonshire, and Jilly Cooper, among others – that you secretly think animals are nicer than people. Well, I have news for you, Your Majesty.

We are.

If I might end this tribute on a personal note. When I came to the Dawnay family aged six weeks in 2002, there was some discussion about my name, as there always is. Well, the entire family, Ma'am, wanted to call me Jubilee, as it was then your Golden Jubilee year.

But Mr Dawnay overruled. Jubilate!

Till next time...