A LONG, THOUGHTFUL CONVERSATION WITH MY CATS…

And one of the reasons I continue to come back here to read.

You are one fine writer Rick Moran!

(My favorite is the insight that cats are visigoths. I would’ve pegged them as anarchists, which reminds me of the Geo Carlin line that Libertarians are anarchists with credit cards.)

On the other hand, big brother Sam (who knows a thing or six about being mercilessly annoyed by a younger sibling - and a Siamese at that) says that his breed (Maine Coon) rarely needs to engage in violence due to their superior size. When discipline is required, one only needs to plant ones substantial fundament on the offending party to ensure proper behavior. I suspect Sam of being a conservative, although he remains evasive on the subject. When you weigh 25 pounds, you can pretty much do what you want! And he does.

I took a poll of my seven furry felines sociopath with the following results:
One right-wing reactionary
Three Libertarians
One anarchist
Two non-participatory in political processes (or in little else, aside from eating, that takes more than minimal effort)

I’m proud to say, that after carefully questioning them on a variety of topics — including but not limited to economics, social policy, foreign policy, national defense, the constitutional right to bear arms, and federal vs. state and local responsibility for hurricane relief — I found nary a socialists-democrat or communist among them. Being practical and individualistic creatures, they express perplexity at liberal support of both programs and people who don’t work. So, what to do about hunger? I asked. “Let them eat mice,” Pumpkin said.

Oh, they were more or less united on one thing; since any time anything happens in America a poll is taken to determine what our superior European brothers think of us — always with negative results — we should legalize the hunting of pollsters.

Oh, and they all agreed that we should immediately nuke all the wheat-gluton factories in China. If nothing else, do it for the kittens, mewed a pleading voice from the crowd. I suspect someone has been watching CNN behind my back.

Yea and verily, do I have speaks with that one.

His goofy brother, on the other hand, is more into the ‘Ooooo shiny!’ mentality and often has an attention span that would put him into the world of gnats. He doesn’t talk much, although he, too, complains a lot…. mostly about being lost… in the living room… the stairway… the hallway… various bedrooms and bathrooms. He will go to the largest open space available and proclaim that he is lost. Repeatedly. At length. And he will go looking for these two-legged creatures in their regular haunts and then look at you and complain that you are in another room. The one with the door closed. ‘Yes you are here, can you go in there and get yourself?’

Between these two brothers they are two average cats intelligence-wise.

The only thing I ask of the Ambassador is that when the Mother Ship comes, to take me with him and off of this strange world. I am obviously on the wrong one and if anyone can find the *right* one, he can.

Now, Max the dog, is the perfect companion. I talk and he listens, occassionally cocking his head to indicate interest in a conversational point.