Kittehs! Where are you in this week’s New Yorker cover?
At first, I was verrah excited, cuz I could see my sisfur, Suzy, the black and white kitteh wif teh panicky, “get me outta here” eyes, bottom right corner, and even my brother, Taffy, laying down on teh job, per usual, behind Mr. Obama. But where am I?
I figure I am way out there in front of Mr. O, leading teh charge. In fact, I am prolly out of frame cuz my speedy cheetah-like sprinting means I’ve already overshot Congress and am currently taking a lap around the Supreme Court, which would be very hard to draw. But still. You would think a bold, streaky blur of tiger stripes would be easy for man of his talents, but I’ll let it pass.
BUT I do take umbrage (or I would, if I knew how to do that…I mean, do you take umbrage by teh scruff of teh neck? pounce on it as it lumbers past, shredding it to bits? pin it under a steely claw until it squeaks for mercy? anyone know…?)
Sorry, I was saying, I take umbrage at the fact that Mr. Blitt is comparing us kittehs to…*sputter* *cough*…Congress.
Shocking, right? Here we have teh proud and noble predator, Felis Catus, hunter of vermin, lap warmer, beloved and useful domestic companion to teh Mans since time began, compared to members of Congress? Those Guys? Those argumentative arrested adolescents, stubbornly obstructing the democratic process in order to make someone else look bad? Those guys who, while already millionaires, still spend their day chasing money bags dangled by Corporate Sponsors, and then turn around and tell school teachers and police officers and Hurricane Sandy victims to “stop whining.” Those guys who must have been neutered because they ain’t even got the cojones to talk about reasonable gun control? Those guys = kittehs?
I don fink so.
I would draw a different picture, one in which Mr. Obama has a nice sit down wif teh kittehs, a little purr and snuggle stress-relief session, to help the Man prepared for another day dealing with these buffoons. I hear Mr. President is allergic or sumthin’, which is sad, but still I’m sure he’d put up with itchy eyes to hang out with cats who would neveh EVAH be so tactless as to yell “YOU LIE,” or call him “Hitler,” or make up make up conspiracy stories that he won the election because an invasion of space aliens or something like that. No. Kittehs have class.
Herd us into teh halls of Congress and you know what would happen? Things would get done. Heads would be bonked, sometimes fur would fly, it’s true, but – Establishing Justice? Ensuring Domesticated Tranquility? Promoting the General Welfare? Kittehs would be all over that like spit on a catnip mouse.
Good Luck, Mr. President. Give us a call if you need helps.