Meow, Mr. President

Did you know that not once in the history of the United States has there been a cat for President? It’s true. I do a little prowling on the Internets to confirm this. Never one of our serving presidents has ever been a cat. Not even Warren Harding.

I don’t know that it’s such a bad thing. It’s hard to imagine a cat would have the wherewithall to juggle complex matters of state. And we might see a flurry of anti-dog legislation (you know, dog parks abolished, mandatory dog-diapering, a proliferation of kennels at Guantanamo Bay.)

But if a cat were in the White House we could probably do without a Presidential chef. We’d save a bundle that. In fact, depending on the rodent population of the building, we might not even have to spring for Science Diet.

And when generals walk in the Oval Office with their tassels and shiny medals you’d hear things like, “Wow, Mr. President, you went straight up his leg! Very nice, Sir. Now let go of that Bronze Star.” Could be awkward.

And at dinner with Chinese dignitaries it would not do to have the President cough up a hairball. It’s just not proper protocol.

And there could be some uncomfortable minutes when, in the middle of tense negotiations with warring Mideast countries, the President climbs into a litterbox and scratches about for half an hour.

Yet there seems to be no shortage of cats who’ve run for higher office:



Gramalkyn Katchamouskie

Here’s a link to an NPR item about Mr. Katchamouskie.

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