In the quiet English village of Willowby Green, people loved two things above all else: village gossip and their annual Summer F?te.

This year, the biggest talk in the village was Mrs. Butterworth's ginger cat, Marmalade. He was fat, fluffy, and usually fast asleep on top of the post office's warm red postbox.

Mrs. Butterworth adored Marmalade. She dressed him in little bow ties and claimed he could understand English perfectly - though his main talents seemed to be yawning and purring very loudly.

When it was time to choose the honorary Village Mayor - a purely fun title given to someone who'd lead the parade and cut the ribbon at the f?te - Mrs. Butterworth put herself forward. But the villagers, a bit tired of Mrs. Butterworth being in charge of everything, decided to have some fun.

"We should nominate Marmalade!" shouted Mr. Higgins, the grocer, wiping flour off his hands.

The village roared with laughter. But by evening, Marmalade's name was officially on the ballot.

On voting day, Marmalade lounged on a picnic blanket, eyes half-closed, whiskers twitching in the breeze. Meanwhile, villagers lined up politely to cast their votes, chatting about rain forecasts and the rising price of eggs.

When the votes were counted, a cheer rose over Willowby Green. Marmalade had won - by a landslide.

Mrs. Butterworth was horrified. "A cat can't be Mayor!" she cried, her sunhat flapping in indignation.

But the villagers insisted. Rules were rules. And so, under cloudy skies, Marmalade was declared the new Mayor of Willowby Green.

That afternoon, the parade began. Mrs. Butterworth carried Marmalade in her arms at the front of the procession. The village brass band played a wobbly version of "Rule, Britannia!" Marmalade opened one golden eye, let out an enormous yawn, and promptly fell asleep again.

At the ribbon-cutting, Mr. Higgins placed tiny golden scissors into Marmalade's paw. Marmalade made no attempt to cut anything and instead flicked his tail as if bored with politics.

"Such wisdom!" whispered Mrs. Pritchard, the schoolteacher. "He's not wasting words like other politicians!"

When it came time for the Mayor's speech, Mrs. Butterworth tried to speak for Marmalade. But every time she opened her mouth, Marmalade let out a loud "MEE-OW!" as if disagreeing with everything she said. The villagers laughed so hard that even the brass band dropped their instruments.

Finally, Mrs. Butterworth sighed and announced, "Mayor Marmalade declares that everyone shall have extra slices of Victoria sponge cake and a cup of tea!"

A huge cheer erupted. Marmalade, now nestled back in Mrs. Butterworth's arms, purred like a small tractor.

From that day on, the sign outside the village hall read:

"Welcome to Willowby Green - Home of Mayor Marmalade."

And if you visit the village today, you might still see Marmalade snoozing on his favourite postbox, ruling the village in his own quiet, sleepy way.