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Rose decided after yet another disastrous week of terrible happenings, that cats, particularly her, could do a whole lot better job of taking care of this world. She spent this week curled up on the table next to the computer while I cried and lamented about Charlottesville and Barcelona and the nonsense (I’m under playing that one) of things happening in DC. The more she heard the more she followed me around meowing and whining and whatever else she could do to get my vote for her taking over the world.

I pointed out to her that she’s already the queen of this space, but that’s not enough for her. She wants to clean things up, get rid of the hate and evil, bring back fresh water with fresh fish for her to eat. She tried to get Nick on board with her plans to take over the world — or at least the kitchen — but he was having none of it. He suggested she follow his strategy for these hard times and just go upstairs and burrow as far as she can under the throw on the bed. He is convinced that no one can see him there so he is safe. His sister knows better and tries to point out his folly to him but she’s too late. He’s back up the stairs and under the covers again.

I’m not sure that she couldn’t do a better job than DT. She certainly wouldn’t do a worse job that’s for sure. As long as she’s given good food — and a lot of it — soft cushions to sleep on and a lot of attention, she could probably do the job. She certainly could show more diplomacy than we’ve seen since January. However, being who she is, it might all go to her head and then she may just become a tad dictatorial. She’s been practicing that role for past 15 years. Every day she has ordered me  around demanding food, or her pillow fluffed or the litter cleaned out and if immediate results are not forthcoming, she has perfected a way to annoy the hell out of me so that I have to oblige her. But even with all her faults, I  know she’d be a lot more sensible than anyone hanging around the White House these days.

For one thing, she doesn’t abide any kind of masculine, testosterone-driven violence of any kind at any time. Occasionally, when her brother feels the mighty surge of masculine power rumbling through his body and decides to attack his sister, Rose puts up with it NOT AT ALL. She lets out banshee shrieks that could awaken the living and the dead. She then cows her brother into backing off by rolling onto her back and bashing her four paws into his face. She has no patience for such goings on. Those torch-carrying, hateful, armed, bullies and over-all bad people, would have been dealt with soundly by Ms. Rose.

But her politics have now taken a back seat to the fact that it’s 6 pm and I’m exactly one hour late serving her dinner. She’s putting off  her campaign for the moment. She wisely knows that no one should start a revolution on an empty stomach. Maybe tomorrow calmer, wiser, quieter, kinder, more loving folks will bring some sensitivity and peace to this troubled world. And then, Ms. Rose, can just go back to being the slightly lazy but always caring cat that she is.

In the meantime, she wants everyone out there to remember that every day and in every way: