Meet the Animal Mayors Running, Scampering, and Flying for Reelection in 2022

 

At 13 years old, Gordy is defying the life expectancy of the average Great Dane. Despite his apparent good health, City Hall has a special closet where staffers store mourning clothes, and an unpaid intern monitors his breathing during his near-constant naps. Gordy hits the campaign trail during his daily walks around the block, but is having trouble swaying voters who identify as cat-people. An opposition Super PAC recently revealed Gordy has a secret second family. This likely won’t affect his chances at re-election, however, as his human opponent also has a secret second family.

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Muffin compulsively knocks over glasses of water, soaking all the bills awaiting her mayoral paw print. Critical budget appropriations have been waylaid due to water damage, and the city’s infrastructure is crumbling as a result. Opponents claim she loathes her constituents, but supporters proudly assert that Muffin does not give a rat’s ass about anything or anybody, making her the perfect political outsider. She has no discernible platform, beliefs, or interests, and is favored to win re-election by 7-1 odds.

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Blossom got elected by playing the girl boss card exclusively and extensively. She plans to win re-election using the same strategy, which includes playing dead whenever confronted with a question about: the overturning of Roe v. Wade, threats to LGBTQ+ rights, the affordable housing crisis, that weird smell emanating from the manhole by the 67 bus stop on Pocket Ave, and any other issue that falls under her jurisdiction as mayor. Despite her constant diversions and evasions, her line of “Girl Bloss!” merchandise is thriving, raking in a whopping $500K of net profit last quarter that neither her constituents nor the IRS will ever see.

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Democracy is currently being audited because he ate his own tax returns. He spends most of his time working on his screenplay and doesn’t pay much attention to the daily demands of running a city. He is very self-critical and has been known to chew up unsatisfying pages, leaving him perpetually stuck on the first act of his feature. Conservative city council members have been capitalizing on his preoccupation by purging the local library of 95% of its books. He will win re-election by gobbling up all of the votes for his opponent.

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The previous human mayor’s teenage son bought the current mayor off of craigslist. The listing described Titus as a “very expensive rare & LEGIT sugar Glider $700 OBO.” However, a vet quickly confirmed Titus was, in fact, a fully feral flying squirrel. The youths found this story “funny AF” and started an unprecedented grassroots campaign to get Titus elected as the new mayor. Turnout among registered voters aged 18-24 was over 90%. Sadly, Titus succumbed to rabies shortly after being sworn in. Anyone who came into contact with Titus was required to receive an emergency inoculation, prompting citywide anti-vaccine mandate protests. These demonstrations fanned the flames of already intense anti-government sentiment, and the town is now planning to disincorporate.

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Morrissey rose to political prominence on a wave of fear mongering now known as “The Delaware Scare.” His supporters promised he wouldn’t actually follow through on any of his threats, and pointed to his many charitable donations to the Association for Squirrel Safety. Despite being a physical danger to everyone who works in city hall, Morrissey will likely win his re-election bid by mauling poll workers until election officials find him 11,000 votes.

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Affectionately known as the “Marsh Monarch,” Tippy has been mayor of this coastal city for 95 years. He has seen mighty politicians rise and fall, and yet he has remained. Despite a rumored networth of $7B, he has been plagued by financial troubles: he has sired thousands of children and his exes are all extremely litigious. When asked about his alleged illicit business dealings in the ‘70s, he walked away. When asked about his support for the War in Iraq, he kept walking. Slowly.

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Charlotte is one of seven possible deer; no one knows for sure if it’s the same one that keeps showing up to cabinet meetings, which take place very, very quietly at a salt lick. The relative anonymity of the mayor helps prevent any pesky government oversight or an inconvenient, expensive special election during hunting season.

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A group of activists wanted to raise awareness of declining bee populations, but, unfortunately, even under the best circumstances a bee’s natural lifespan is only about a month. Harrison the Bee buzzed his last buzz just 16 days after taking office. His official cause of death reads: a lengthy inauguration speech on a very chilly day in January. He was succeeded in office by a human man whose name we forget.

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Mr. Big is more than just a critically endangered rhino to his Indiana community: he’s a symbol of economic recovery. Eight years ago, Main Street was decimated by the Environmental Protection Agency’s report that the town’s soil contained acute levels of radium. In response, the state government boldly diverted federal aid, originally allotted for clean up, to a far flashier cause: purchasing Mr. Big from an undisclosed seller. Ever since Mr. Big’s installation in city hall, tourism routed from nearby I-69 has increased by 30 per cent, much to the dismay of the EPA. Dozens of animal rights and conservation groups have attempted “rescue” missions to “free” Mayor Mr. Big. But don’t worry–this little Indiana community guards him with guns!