Alaska town that elected a cat as its mayor: Lessons for Kenya

What’s more dangerous: a town run by a cat or a country run by corrupt men?

Once upon a time in Alaska, a town got so tired of lying, thieving politicians that they did the unthinkable—they elected a cat. Yes, a real cat as the Mayor of Talkeetna, a town with a population of about 1000 people.

Now, to some Kenyans, that might sound like satire. But really, is a cat any worse than the corrupt, incompetent leaders we’re forced to tolerate?

But sick of empty manifestos and overfed egos—the Talkeetna community in 1997 put their trust in a furry, four-legged feline who didn’t speak, didn’t steal, and didn’t hold press conferences. Stubbs, as the cat was known, ended up serving as mayor for 15 years.

Stubbs (below) didn’t promise jobs. He didn’t build roads. And didn’t steal public funds either. For many, that’s already a massive upgrade.

Though the town was not officially incorporated, the residents still elected Stubbs as the honorary mayor through a cheeky but symbolic write-in campaign. The town’s residents embraced their feline leader with more love and loyalty than many Kenyans can muster for their own elected officials.

And why not? Stubbs didn’t lie, didn’t loot, and didn’t send his goons to rough up journalists. He spent most of his mayoral career lounging around Nagley’s General Store, greeting locals and tourists alike. Unlike our typical leaders who disappear into gated compounds after election day, Stubbs was always accessible—no need for appointments or bodyguards.

Stubbs was resilient. He survived multiple assassination attempts—including being mauled by a dog. At that time, donations poured in for his medical treatment. Excess funds were given to animal charities—proof that even in symbolic leadership, good can be done. Compare that with our reality, where public donations often “vanish” and humanitarian appeals are milked dry by bureaucrats with Swiss accounts.

For 20 years, Stubbs was a calm, unbothered symbol of what leadership could be: visible, harmless, and scandal-free. He didn’t need convoys, allowances, or press briefings. He didn’t threaten dissenters or amend constitutions. And when he finally passed away in 2017, the town mourned—not because they’d lost a legislator, but because they’d lost a gentle soul who reminded them that leadership doesn't have to be predatory.

So perhaps the people of Talkeetna weren’t mad after all. Maybe they were just ahead of the curve, showing the world—and yes, even Kenya—that dignity, loyalty, and integrity can be found in the most unlikely leaders.

After all, what’s more dangerous: a town run by a cat or a country run by corrupt men?