The office in question is Bike Path Mayor of Somerville, Massachusetts, a ceremonial title that began as a neighborhood inside joke and spiraled, gloriously, into a full-blown election. What started with one owner declaring her cat the mayor of the local bike path ended with more than 70 pet candidates, dozens of campaign signs, QR-code ballots, and nearly 6,000 votes cast.

Every other candidate went positive. “More Kibble for All.” “Proven leader defending our bike path values.” Earnest, wholesome, forgettable. Minerva looked at the entire field, distilled her message down to the single word “Crime,” and buried all of them. She understands the electorate on a level that should probably concern us.

Her campaign was not without drama. According to locals, Minerva’s platform proved so compelling that someone stole both her campaign sign and the QR-code voting sign in the final days of the race — an act of political sabotage that, if anything, only reinforced her brand. Whether she is pro-crime or anti-crime was never actually clarified. With a cat, her owner noted, it could genuinely go either way.

These pet mayor races have quietly become a nationwide tradition. Talkeetna, Alaska famously had a cat named Stubbs “serve” for 20 years; Rabbit Hash, Kentucky has run on dog mayors for decades. They raise money for local causes and, crucially, cost the taxpayer nothing beyond the price of a very small ceremonial sash.

Notably, several dogs did enter the Somerville race. They were, per reports, swiftly dismissed by voters on the grounds that dogs have no place in politics. Minerva, meanwhile, took office having promised nothing, explained nothing, and won everything. A natural.