Is it infidel or zinfandel?

It was a sunny Sunday when I found my campaign manager sitting in a dark room passed out at her desk in front of the computer. After checking out what she was up to, I found that she wasn't working on my website. No! She was working her way through one of those on-line traffic schools. No wonder she had passed out. I couldn't think of anything more boring to do on such a lovely day. Still nothing is more boring than Entertainment Tonight, which was playing softly on the TV behind her while she slept. After listening to millions stories about Anna Nicole Smith and her life of abject and incredible stupidity, I myself have found myself in a stupor on the floor. Several times I have wondered if I was the father of Anna Nicole's baby, I was so addled by the unrelenting cheery broadcasts.

Anna Nicole Smith

Traffic School

Anna Nicole Smith

Traffic School

Have you ever noticed how American life is geared to turn you into a drug addict or a simple-minded gimp? Is it a wonder that we elect people like Dick Cheney?

What can't American life be snappy and swinging like a Blue Six tune? I want to be able to wiggle through life with my pants off without encountering Dr. Phil for a little come to Jesus moment about my aberrant behavior and how I caused my wife, mother-in-law, or husband to have constipation. Or better yet, how not wearing pants turned my whole family into a group of prostitutes who only ate mashed potatoes for dinner.

I lay on the floor and watched my campaign manager sleep for several minutes. She seemed so peaceful. I didn't want her to come back into the room full of traffic school and Anna Nicole Smith. What could I do? How could I save her from her place in the American psychosis?  How could I get her to make me sardines and mackerel in calamari sauce every night?

This was a job for The Great Cat. I put my turban on and meditated for several seconds. This brought great clarity to my mind. The Great Cat appeared before me.

He silently regarded me with eyebrows arched.  Finally he spoke: "What is it my son?"

"Oh, great kitty, hear me," I began. The Great Cat looked slightly irritated. He tapped his foot and I wondered if I should retreat under the bed.

I bravely cleared my throat and began again. "My campaign manager is suffering from the idiocy of daily life. What can I do to relieve her pain?" He pursed his lips.

"Cato, my son, it is great matter to solve the dilemma of daily living for other beings. Since she is human, this is part of the cross she must bear." He was silent.

"But I must do something," I entreated my fur-clad master. "She is my campaign manager and she is in danger of going brain dead. If she goes out like a light, my campaign will end."

"Ah, well, this is another matter completely. We must get her back on the road to recovery." He clapped his hands and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

I waited for what was coming next. With The Great Cat one never knew what would come from his infinite wisdom.

I must have dozed for several seconds because I was jarred by the slap of something hitting the floor in front of me. Was is Anna Nicole? I opened one eye and looked cautiously. There in front of me, face down on the floor, was an unremarkable brown leather volume. I bent down to pick it up. The book's cover was smooth; it felt like leather. It looked perfectly harmless. I picked it up. Then something happened, it aligned itself to fit my paw. My heart skipped a beat.I flicked my claws and hissed. But there was nothing in the room, but my campaign manager sleeping. Her breath coming in soft chuffing noises.

There were lines on the cover, but I couldn't read them. I opened the book. Some of the pages were stuck together, joined at the edges, unopened. Here, there were no lines on the paper. I seemed to hold a completely blank book. That is when I felt a strong push from behind.............. I fell into the book.

As I tumbled head over tail, I felt no apprehension. No! I worried about food. Would I get to eat my Whiskas that evening? Would I have Lemon Twist yogurt again for breakfast? This was in the forefront of my brain when I found myself crashing into the soft plastic seat of a VW bug. The throttle was wide open and the car was careening down a hill at breakneck speed. Again, I felt no apprehension as I realized I was at the wheel. Somehow my legs had grown and now reached the peddles. I took the right one off the foot feed and the car slowed. Ah, this was fun. I spun the wheel. Suddenly the car was moving out of my control. It was a wild ride and I enjoyed it immensely. I came to rest in a ditch. I felt dizzy, but relaxed. I laughed out loud.

That's when I heard him tapping on the window. "Ma'am, Ma'am are you alright?" He wore a uniform and at first I couldn't place it. Was I in Iraq? "Ma'am, I need to see your drivers license." I wondered what that was.

And then I found myself speaking. "Right here officer," I reached into my purse and retrieved a piece of plastic with my picture on it. Then I realized I was wearing a red dress. My knees were exposed and my bazooms were enormous. I stood up to check out the effect, which seemed to rattle the officer.

"Like Anna Nicole?" I asked. I had become creepily breathless.

He shook his head. "Like Marilyn," he said and stepped back in awe. Handed me my license and told me to be more careful. "Next time don't spin the wheel quite so violently." The scene began to spin as he spoke.

Again, I worried about dinner. Would I ever, ever, get to eat Friskies Mixed Grill? This time the landing wasn't so soft. I found myself on a worn carpet. I stood up to find a place to relieve myself, but when I did a whole group of turbaned fellows stood up with me. There was a cold wind blowing through the tent flap. Outside I could see snow-topped mountains. I wore a robe and turban and had an icy feel in my tooters.

"Where were we?" I asked the group, having no idea where the Great Cat had put me this time.

"We were discussing the bombing of the infidel."

"Was that infidel or Zinfandel?" Nobody laughed. They were a sober group. Suddenly there was a bottle in my hand and I was pouring glasses of Ridge Zinfandel for the surprised men. (The Great Cat sometimes has a quirky sense of humor.) They looked outraged.

"The infidel we are bombing is he alive or dead?" The men looked at me more confused.

"He is dead, Imam."We all broke into cheers.

Once again I felt apprehensive about my next meal as I tumbled head long into space and through the pages of the book. I tasted parchment and fell head long onto the sofa of the oval office. There he was before me. I sheathed my claws and rubbed my paws on my pants. I was dressed in a dark conservative suit. President George Bush turned to the general standing next to him and said: "Pull out the troops now, Cheney is dead."

Visions of mice and men and birdies filled my head as I tumbled. Briefly I stood over the Declaration of Independence of the United States holding a pen and added the words "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men and felines, are created equal, that they are endowed by The Great Cat with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness without traffic school, Entertainment Tonight, Dick Cheney, George Bush or Anna Nicole Smith."

I lay onto the floor of my campaign manager's office. I was famished. I wanted Tuna. She woke and lifted her head from the desk. There were red welts where she had lain on books stacked before her.

"You would never believe the dream, I had," she said to me.

I pushed the book out of sight and meowed.

"Time to eat?" She smiled at me and walked out of the room.

I tucked the book behind the cat box and followed her into the kitchen.

Thanks to Matthew Skelton, who wrote Endymion Spring for some words in this story. This is Cato's favorite bedtime story.

Comments

[Aloysius]

That's a wonderful story! It is my dream that the Great Cat will speak to me some day.