Hail to the Cat
President Joseph R. Biden hasn’t come through on many promises he’s made, thanks to a divided Congress, but he and his wife, Dr. Jill Biden made good on a pledge to bring a cat into the White House.
Willow is a two-year-old, green-eyed, grey and white-striped, short-haired tabby. The feline is from Pennsylvania and is named after the town Jill was raised in, Willow Grove, Pennsylvania. It’s also the state where the 46th President was born.
Clearly the Biden’s are looking ahead to the 2024 elections to make good with the voters of that key battleground state.
If our do-nothing cat, Chester, could vote, this move would lock his up for Biden.
“It’s about time we got a cat in the White House,” crowed the Connecticut tabby. “Those stupid dogs of theirs were driving me nuts.”
“Actually, there have been several cats who previously lived in the White House,” I informed Chester. “But Willow is the first feline since India, to inhabit the place since the George W. Bush administration.”
“I’ll take your word for that,” Chester responded. “And who’s George W. Bush?”
“I thought you would know who GWB is,” I said.
“Just kidding,” Chester chuckled. “You want me to name all the U.S. presidents in election or alphabetical order.”
“No need,” I said to our showoff cat.
“I’ll do it backwards,” bragged Chester.
“Stop,” I pleaded.
“So how did Willow worm her way into that mansion,” Chester asked.
“While Jill Biden was stumping for her husband in 2020, Willow jumped on stage during her speech,” I told my AP history student of a cat. “Biden was immediately smitten by the feline, and now, Willow is living on easy street.”
“What a great con that Willow pulled off,” Chester said with admiration. “If a human did that, the Secret Service would have shot the person. Instead, the cat gets a home in the White House.”
“I wish Jeff Bezos would have walked into the Mew Haven Cat Cafe when I was there,” Chester added. “I would have bamboozled him into bringing me home.”
“You don’t like living with us,” I asked gloomily.
“Of course I like being here,” Chester said. “But think of the luxurious life I’d be living now if I was his pet.
“Cats and dogs believe politicians are like cemetery caregivers; they are on top of everyone, but nobody listens.”Rita Mae Brown
“I could order all the cat toys I want on Amazon and not pay a penny. Then I’d get on the phone to the UK and order me some of that British Banquet at $11,000 per year. Only the best for Chester.”
“You wouldn’t pay for anything, you’re a cat,” I reminded Chester.
“Then a bowl for everyone, on me. Na Zdrowie” Chester yelled.
“So, you want to go up in his spaceship too,” I asked our scaredy-cat.
“No way,” Chester said with emphasis. “But I’d have no problem relaxing on his mega yacht sipping some Pink Pussy Cats.
“Let’s get back to Willow,” I said, trying to steer us back to the original topic. “What do you think she does at the White House?”
“Good question,” Chester nodded. “I was wondering the same thing. It’s not like she wound up in just anyone’s home. She’s walking around the White House and besides sleeping, eating, playing, licking and more sleeping; cats are very curious and can use stealth tactics to get into anyplace they want.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too,” I said.
“Those Biden dogs are too stupid to get involved in state secrets, but a cat…. meow,” Chester said with a sense of dread.
“No kidding,” I concurred. “Did the Office of Personnel Management, Defense Department and the Office of the Director of National Intelligence do background checks on Willow? Of course not. For all we know this cat could be working as a foreign agent. A spy in cat’s clothing, farming out top secret information to who knows who.”
“If I were the Russians, Chinese or even Liechtenstein, planting a cat in the White House would be the biggest coup since the Russkis turned FBI agent Robert Hanssen.,” Chester concluded.
“Who’s stopping a cute little kitty from entering the Oval Office or Cabinet Room while the President is talking about sensitive national security issues,” Chester continued. “Maybe he has a human partner working with him on the inside like a janitor. All Willow has to do is write out the top-secret information in her litter box; the janitor reads the information, then cleans the box so no one else sees it. Purrrrrfect! You have to think Russia’s SVR, China’s Ministry of State Security or Petco is working on a plan to do this.”
“You know what,” I asked Chester. “Suppose Willow has the President’s ear and he’s feeding him false information on our adversaries. Imagine the peril that could put our country in. Even worse, Willow guides Biden’s decisions on promoting pro-cat legislation at the expense of everything else.”
“I agree on the first point, but what’s wrong with pushing pro-cat legislation,” Chester said quizzically.
“Pro-cat legislation might be the only bi-partisan thing Congress passes,” my Face the Nation cat said. “You have to figure that a sizable number of senators and representatives have cats as well.
“Imagine you’re a member of Congress who owns one or more cats. How are you going to be able to face them when you come home and tell those cats you voted down a bill that would benefit them? I don’t think so. Next day there are compromising videos of said elected official on the internet. Wonder where that came from? I know. Whiskers and Snowball edited some content using Premiere Pro and hit publish! Cats don’t need the Washington Post, New York Times or National Enquirer to get the word out.”
I wanted to call the FBI’s counterintelligence department to warn them of the menace in the White House; but before I could, I had another chilling thought.
What if Donald Trump got wind of the Willow ploy? He could stop wasting his time talking about how the 2020 election was rigged and focus instead on becoming a cat for the purpose of re-entering the White House.
A Trump cat plan may already be in the works. Apparently, there was a test run done recently with the former President’s now suspended attorney, Rudolph Giuliani, disguised as a cat on The Masked Singer. Unfortunately for Giuliani and the Trump organization, the former New York City mayor sucked at meowing, blowing his cover and being unmasked.
Sources tell Chester A. Cat of The Chester Chronicles that Trump has hired noted vocal coach Natasha McNamara. Besides teaching foreign actors to sound like an American with standard, New York and Southern dialects; she also specializes in teaching cat, specifically Maine Coon, American Wirehair, American Shorthair and Tabby accents.
As for looking like an ordinary feline, Trump has hired Academy Award winning costume designer Ruth E. Carter (Black Panther). Carter has the daunting task of trying to make the 6-foot 2-inch, 244-pound Trump appear the size of a domesticated cat.
Carter was chosen over John Napier, the original costume designer for the Broadway musical, Cats. Carter’s focus on Afrofuturism made her a surprise pick which is described on her website as a combination of “science fiction, history, and fantasy to explore the Black experience and connect those from the African Diaspora with their lost ancestry.”
Trump has Scottish and German ancestry in his family bloodlines, but nothing from the African continent; unless you go back a few million years.
Carter, who was honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, said she took the job for the challenge of trying to see if she could make a “tiger change its stripes or at least fit an obese man into a tiny cat costume. They shrunk Matt Damon and Kristen Wiig in the movie Downsizing, so it has to be possible. Right?”
Early attempts at getting Trump into a small catsuit have been unsuccessful according to reports.
“That is fake news, it’s totally fake news, made up, fake,” Trump told The Chester Chronicles.
Should Carter actually pull off the impossible, it will still be difficult to explain how a cat walking into the White House has a Secret Service detail.
“One can only imagine what Willow would write in her litter box if that happens,” Chester meowed.
Mile High Pet Club
As the People’s Republic of China tightens its grip to eradicate democracy in Hong Kong, a sizeable group of its citizens are fleeing with their families. The PRC’s handling of COVID-19 in their special administrative region is adding to the desire for people to leave the area.
But getting a flight out of the former British colony is next to impossible if you want to bring your pets. Charter plane companies flying out of Hong Kong are seeing their business explode because of the demand to fly Fideo and Fluff Ball to freedom.
The incentive for families to get their pets out of Hong Kong was heightened after officials in that city had over 2,500 small animals euthanized when a few pet store critters tested positive for COVID.
“Pets are part of the family,” Jolie Howard, CEO of charter jet broker L’Voyage, told CNN. “A lot of people are waiting 12 months for a flight. From what I understand there are a few thousand animals (in Hong Kong) waiting to get on flights to their owners.”
Those owners aren’t just the super-rich. They’re middle-class families who pool their money together to charter an aircraft for their pets.
The situation is so dire for the animals that even Chester was feeling sympathetic towards the dogs.
“What a nightmare,” Chester said. “I hope they can all escape.”
You know things are bad when Chester expresses concern for canines. In fact, he’s never done that before. Of course, he got uppity when he saw photos of how happy the dogs looked while sitting in a luxurious private jet being pampered.
“I thought it would be like that movie, The Plague Dogs, where Rowf and Snitter are hunted after escaping a laboratory, because the public is told they have the plague. The dogs on these jets are as far from that as you can be. They don’t have a care in the world,” Chester sneered.
“Good feelings gone about your dog friends,” I said.
“Not friends, they’re dogs,” Chester countered. “You almost had me with this sob story about those pooches. But even in a bad spot, dogs always get better treatment than us cats.”
“Hold on,” I said. “There are plenty of cats getting the same first-class treatment as the dogs. You just like to focus on your dislike for canines.”
“You have a problem with that,” Chester said with a touch of venom.
“I get it, you’re a cat and you don’t like dogs,” I said. “In fact, you don’t like most living creatures including many other cats.”
“True,” Chester said in the most blasé way possible. “But I was being sincere about the dogs, until I saw how well they travel. As for the cats, they deserve all the five-star treatment they can get.
“If I were flying a jet, I’d demand the dogs stay in a crate down in cargo.”
“Glad to see you recovered from your bout of compassion for man’s best friend,” I said, regretting the last part immediately.
“Never say that about dogs,” Chester yelled. If he wasn’t so furry, I’m sure I would have seen his veins bulge out.
“Always remember, cats are man’s best friend,” Chester corrected me. “In fact, in your case, I’m your only friend.”
“What about my family,” I asked.
“You should hear what they say about you when you’re not around,” Chester said with a sly taunt.
I wasn’t taking the bait.
“Is there anything else for those pets to do on the jet besides eat, drink, look out the window and sleep,” Chester asked.
“I thought those were the only things in life that mattered to you,” I said.
“Like games, watch TV, read a cat magazine; you know, other stuff,” Chester inquired.
“Sure, they might even become members of the Mile High Club,” I said.
“What’s that,” Chester said innocently.
“Let’s put it this way,” I began. “It’s not a club you can affiliate with.”
“Why not,” Chester asked dejectedly.
“Because you were neutered, that’s why,” I said in a raised voice so there was no misunderstanding.
“Oh,” was all our tabby could utter. As close to speechlessness as he’s ever come near to.
“If you take me on a plane ride, can I fly the jet,” Chester said, trying to look for a silver lining to his non-membership in the MHC.
“A tom cat hijacked a plane, stuck a pistol into the pilot’s ribs and demanded: ‘Take me to the canaries.”Bob Monkhouse
“Sure,” I said lightly. “Just let me make sure my life insurance is in good order first.”
“Anywhere in particular you want to fly to, Captain Chester,” I said, trying to pump up his ego after such a letdown.
“Places that sound like they have something in common with me,” Chester said thoughtfully.
“Kathmandu, Kitty Hawk, Los Gatos, Pussy Cat Flats; but not Hong Kong,” Chester said emphatically.