How will my cats decide who to
vote for for president?
(or “whom,” if you please).
They don’t watch tv or read the paper.
They never talk to anyone; they don’t even know about the election.
We leave them by themselves a lot—
the two siamese tabbies and the big tuxedo male.
It’s amazing how they never hurt themselves,
even though they get their claws caught in the screen sometimes,
or their head caught in a bag handle.
They hang out by the windows at night, pressing against the screens.
They don’t really know about going outside,
but if another cat walks through the yard—
or a raccoon—
they raise all hell, yowling and puffing like snakes.
I don’t want to touch ‘em when they’re like that—
I might end up on an iv with a septic fang wound.
I’d say, the kitties are pretty concerned about security.
Second priority: their food bowl—speaking of which,
there are ants in their kibbles in the morning—
sugar ants or grease ants—
twenty or more gathering under a tiny round morsel on the floor,
streaking in all directions if I move it.
The cats won’t eat their food when there are ants in it.
I have to grind it down the garbage disposal, ants and all.
We put out stuff for the ants—cinnamon, cayenne pepper,
but nothing stops them from entering through cracks in the wall.
The Democratic platform lists all the benefits we’ll get if we elect Hillary,
but killing ants is missing.
(or “whom,” if you please).
They don’t watch tv or read the paper.
They never talk to anyone; they don’t even know about the election.
We leave them by themselves a lot—
the two siamese tabbies and the big tuxedo male.
It’s amazing how they never hurt themselves,
even though they get their claws caught in the screen sometimes,
or their head caught in a bag handle.
They hang out by the windows at night, pressing against the screens.
They don’t really know about going outside,
but if another cat walks through the yard—
or a raccoon—
they raise all hell, yowling and puffing like snakes.
I don’t want to touch ‘em when they’re like that—
I might end up on an iv with a septic fang wound.
I’d say, the kitties are pretty concerned about security.
Second priority: their food bowl—speaking of which,
there are ants in their kibbles in the morning—
sugar ants or grease ants—
twenty or more gathering under a tiny round morsel on the floor,
streaking in all directions if I move it.
The cats won’t eat their food when there are ants in it.
I have to grind it down the garbage disposal, ants and all.
We put out stuff for the ants—cinnamon, cayenne pepper,
but nothing stops them from entering through cracks in the wall.
The Democratic platform lists all the benefits we’ll get if we elect Hillary,
but killing ants is missing.
