Election Night

by Stacey Sharpe, Canandaigua, NY, USA

It is election night and as I sit here and ponder the liklihood that my candidate will not win the gubernatorial race, playing my Poppit game, Miss Nancy suddenly appears perched on top of my computer desk like a furry, gray gargoyle. Batting my hand from the keyboard, she proclaims that the feline contigent have taken a vote of their own tonight.....

N:

"Mom, Sid, Patrick, Bob and I have been talking, and there is an urgent matter we need to discuss."

Me:

"You talked to Sid? In full sentences?"

N:

"Well, he was in on the discussion, but kept forgetting that we weren't discussing food.. but you are trying to change the subject, pay attention!"

Me:

"Allright your little furry Highness, what is at issue here?"

N:

"Well, as I said, we have discussed it amongst ourselves, and us cats have decided that the d*g must go. Now."

Me:

"Nance, we've been through this before. The dog stays. You are just going to have to learn to get along with each other."

N:

"Mother, you seem to misunderstand. I am not asking you, I am telling you. No more d*g, final decision, no discussion."

Me:

"You know, the d*g wouldn't bother you as much if you just gave her a good smack next time she gets in your face. Instead you all just scatter and run like a bunch of furry wimps. You know that Gramma's cat pays The Moose no attention whatsoever, and they get along just fine. Heck, they even sleep together when Gramma babysits over night."

N:

(Looking very disgusted at the very idea of sleeping with a d*g) "I speak for all of us superior beings when I say that we would never stoop to the level of touching that creature in any way, even to discipline it! And besides, when we do stand up to it, it barks and that hurts our ears."

Me:

"She just wants to play, if you look carefully when she chases you, her stub is wagging."

N:

"Enough of this blather. You are my slave and you will do as I say. Get rid of that flea-ridden fog horn or else!"

Me:

"Or else what? You'll poop on the floor? Retch on the kitchen table? Steal food from the cupboards? You allready do that... so why should I meet your demands?"

N:

"If you do not take remove the d*g from this household, we shall do it ourselves."

Me:

"How? You can't let her out to run away, you don't have thumbs!"

N:

"You've been warned, slave. Do as we say or the d*g dies."

That said, Miss Nancy turned with a flick of her tail and stalked out of the room. Figuring that The Moose may, indeed, be in moral danger, I went to consult with Patrick regarding the situation.

Me:

"Patrick, baby, Mommy needs to talk with you about this d*g situation."

P:

"I won't give out any information! They'll call me a "stooly"... Nancy will make my life miserable! Bob will bite me on the back of the neck when I'm least expecting it! I will NOT give up any information! Never"

I scritch his ears vigorously. His eyes go to half slits as his tail twitches in ecstasy.

P:

"Allright, what do you want? You don't play fair, Mommy!"

Me:

"Miss Nancy says that The Moose will die if I don't get rid of her. What is Nancy planning?"

P:

(Looks around to assure he is not being watched, then whispers in my ear while pretending to give me head butts)... "It's quite involved, actually. Mr. Bob came up with the ingenuous idea. You see, Mr. Bob will lure the d*g into the kitchen by slowly crouching through the living room on his tummy, and then zooming into the kitchen with the d*g hot on his heels. When in the kitchen, Sid will entice The Moose in front of the fridge by pretending to be eating something out of the d*g dish. Once the evil being is in place, Nancy will push the Crock Pot off the top of the fridge onto the d*g's head and VOILA.. dead d*g!"

Although aghast at the thought of my four sweet, docile feline masters coming up with such a cold blooded plot against my beloved Moose, I knew the plan would never come to fruition. There was a flaw in this plan you see.... because by now sweet but majorly dim-witted Sid had in all liklihood not only forgot that the plan was ever discussed, but it was also highly doubtful that he even remembered that we had a dog!

Safe in the knowledge that The Moose would live to see another day, I returned to my game of Poppit. But, just to be sure... I'm moving the crock pot before I go to bed.

Editor's note:

• If you want to comment on this article, why not write direct to Stacey Sharpe?
• She will be pleased to hear from you!

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