130. STRICTLY POLITICAL

I was lying on my bed, listening to my iTunes play about fifteen songs of Martin’s proposed concert list. I needed to get into the groove and form some ideas for the concert overture I was going to score. It had been a busy morning for this old gimp: I had dressed, fed the cats, and had my first cup of coffee and a bit of breakfast while I checked out the computer.

My God, I thought, I’m getting more junk mail than anything I really need or personal email. Crap. I then moved to my friend Bruce Kimmel’s chatboard to see what was going on there. By that time, I needed to begin my daily kitty clean-up: pick up their breakfast dishes and wash them out before I headed into the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, do my leg stretches, and clean the litter box.

Getting out of my chair was painful; my back had been a mess for a week after hauling into the apartment a 40-lb. carton of litter. As I knelt to put the empty dishes onto the tea cart I used to move things around the apartment, Stella ran up to finish off whatever was still left to be eaten, I stroked her back as I watched her finish off a bowl of Fancy Feast Tuna and Whitefish. When she decided she had enough and moved away from the dish, I put it onto the cart, dragged myself to my feet, and pushed the cart into the kitchen area.

After the dishes were emptied and set to soak with a bit of detergent, I grabbed the garbage bag and my cane and moved into the bathroom, where Annabelle sat in the bathtub waiting for me.

Well, hello, Missy, I said. It’s always nice to see my little girl waiting for me.

You’re late this morning.

Aw, Missy Belle, cut me some slack. You know I was up in the middle of the night.

I forgot! You were not well.

I had awakened at 3:00, fully aware that I’d better move as quickly as possible to the bathroom, where I spent the next hour being sick as a skunk. Something I’d eaten was not sitting well, and I remained in the bathroom, surrounded by three curious babies, for about an hour. Given my mobility, it was better to stay therte than try to make a fast run to the bathroom. I was simply too decrepit. I crawled back into bed around 4:00, and the alarm ringing at 6:00 was far too early when all you want to do is lie down and die.

No, I think I’m better now, but it wiped me out.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth while Annabelle watched me and griped about her passport and how Donald Trump was out to get her. After drying my face, I lowered myself at the side of the bathtub and stroked her back. This was our private time since I was no longer able to chase her up and down the halls of the building on our daily patrols. I knew she missed them. I scratched her ears, and when she lay down on her side, I tickled her tummy and scratched her under her chin while she chirped and trilled in happiness.

Okay, Missy, I told her, it’s time for our stretches.

I thern did three sets of leg stretches before I got up and cleaned the litter box. As usual, she sat beside me and criticized my work. As soon as I had dumped the dirty litter into the garbage bag and re-assembled the litter box and trap, she jumped in for a pee.

Aw, I just cleaned this! I protested. Why can’t you do this before I begin?

I like clean litter. You know that.

She jumped out of the box, wiped her feet on the lityter mat and strutted away.

When I rose, I dumped the garbage bag into the bag of trash for the basement, pushed the teacart back into the living area, cleaned my hands with Purell, and sat at the computer. I turned on my iTunes and lay down. Thatch jumped up to join me. Shortly after he curled up beside me, Annabelle jumped onto my stomach.

Okay, Thatch, she told him. I need to talk to Daddy. Go bother Stella.

I was just getting comfortable, he protested.

Scram. Go away. Okay?

Yes, boss, he said before he jumped off the bed and ran to join Stella at the window.

Annabelle then sat up on my abdomen, which was already tender, and proceeded to groom herself.

Annabelle, I began.

Yes, Daddy?

What did you want to talk to me about?

Just a second. I haven’t grooming.

I swear, sometimes I’m just a Howard Johnson’s on the turnpike of your life.

Sometimes I do not understand you at all. Here’s my question: did I hear that right, Daddy?

What, Annabelle? I asked. What did you hear?

Did I hear right that Marjorie Taylor Greene says she is a white Christian nationalist?

I think she did say something like that, just the other day, I think.

Are there black Christian nationalists? Or red ones? Or blue?

 No, Missy. They are white as in white trash. They’re nothing more than Nazis who have nothing to do with Christianity. These hateful bigots wouldn’t know Christ if He walked up to them and gave them brains.

But she says she’s a “Christian?”

Yes, she does. But she and her ilk have nothing to do with Christianity.

Good. That’s all I needed to know! This will make Thatch happy.

She jumped off me and moved to the edge of the bed.

Why? I asked.

Because we can use her when we do our next movie night.

On movie nights, I have to watch three cats act out a movie. They wear costumes and play all the roles. “The Creature from the Black Lagoon” was a mess because Annabelle played both the heroine and the Creature, and scaredy=cat Thatch was afraid of the Creature, so he had to have a pet panther to kill the Creature. Stella’s panther was the best thing in it.

Oh, God, I thought, what are they up to now?

Can you call her for me? We need her for movie night.

I can call her office, but she won’t talk to me. I’m not important enough for her ambitions, and when she checks me out, she’ll see I’m a Democrat. I’Il can leave a message.

Okay. Thank you.

She jumped off my bed.

Wait! Come back here, Missy? You don’t like Republicans. Why am I calling Marjorie

Taylor Greene’s office?

Annabelle wandered back to me and sat at my feet.

We need her for movie night.

Isn’t that a qweek away?

Yes, but we need to know that she’ll come be in it with us.

What movie needs an obnoxious stupid blonde? Oh, wait . . . there are a lot of them in the movies.

Well, we’re going to do The Bible, and we need a Whore of Babylon. It’s purr-fect casting! She ran to the window where Thatch and Stella were wrestling. Thatch! We can rehearse now!

Well, I remained dubious, but then again, an ambitious political whore never misses a photo op or chance to be seen. I called her office and left a message.

Our Whore of Babylon neither returned my call nor showed up to assist Annabelle and Thatch’s movie night. As a result, movie night was canceled since the three cats could not decide which of their successes to repeat. This gave me time to catch up on my reading and finish one of several books lying on the floor next to my bed.

Well, Annabelle, I said the next morning, I’m really sorry that your attempt to tackle The Bible was a dud. Marjorie Taylor Greene must be awfully busy: she’s trying to impeach Biden, restore Trump to President, keep all those white Christian nationalists in an uproar and their panties in a bunch, and God knows how many Democrats in Washington she needs to badmouth and complain about daily. It must be a chore to be rotten to everyone all the time.

Actually, Daddy, I really am sorta glad she didn’t show up. She seems so unpleasant and pushy all the time.

Well, it’s difficult being a pleasant “white Christian nationalist” when you have so many lives to ruin on behalf of your beliefs.

Well, speaking of ugly Republicans, Thatch, Stella, and I need to get into our “Cats Against Trump” clothes.

Is there a reason? I asked her.

With him?  There’s always a reason. He’s golfing with some 9/11 killers today, and we’re going to a rally.

Don’t get in trouble. You know I can’t go with you.

Pebble and Oyster are coming with us. They’ll take care of us.

Oyster and Pebble are their best friends, a gay couple of pigeons who are very concerned about what the Republicans want to do to gay marriage now that the abortion situation has become a complete mess. 

Are you sure?

Yes, I’m sure. At the first sign of trouble, we’re coming home.

Got your cell phone?

Yes, fully charged.

I will worry all the time you’re gone.

When can we order our “Cats Against Ron Death Sentence” T-shirts and caps?

That’s not his name, Annabelle.

Oh, yes, it is!

©2022, Larry Moore