Like a bee to honey, dear readers, your Miss Comportment is a-buzz about politics … but NOT of the Middle Valley variety. (More on Bernie and Mayor Charlotte’s moronic attempts to memorialize Mick Righteous at a later time.)
In fact, I interrupt this cretinous collision of celebrity culture and small town psychosis, for once, to speak on larger matters.
We live in confounding times, people. Our basic human rights are under seige – of our speech, of our bodies, even of our right to vote.
Look in one direction and there’s darkness – a tunnel so deep, so blinding and disorienting for some that they don’t see the danger ahead if that road were to present itself.
Look in the other and there’s light. A chance to influence the path forward – no, actually, a chance to have a path forward that doesn’t obstruct inquiry or subvert reality. One that doesn’t gaslight those it represents. One that stands for the rule of law, for truth, justice, and (dare I say) the American Way.
Think of it: Rather than casting a ballot four years from now, we could be living in an autocracy ruled by men who believe that women like me – a proud never-married, childless, cat-loving woman, mind you – posed some sort of threat to this country. They believe that my life choices – the choice I made to be a storyteller and lay out the facts (or, in some cases, phony facts) each and every week to you, dear reader, or the choice I made to move to this beautiful river bank and listen to the birds or watch a duck paddle down our beloved Chickotee as I write … that somehow these choices mean I am “less than.”
Which is why (props to David Letterman) I give to you this Top 10 list:
Top 10 reasons I champion cats
- Low-maintenance. Low-key: You know I am a woman of the world, dear reader. Do I have time to talk to plants or teach a canary to sing? That would be “no.”
- Nonchalance: They have their space, and I have mine.
- Meditation-friendly: You know I have my Sun Salutations every morning. Do I need a yappy dog up in my grill, fetching the leash, begging to get outside at the break of day? NO! Nu-uh.
- A menace to mice: Last winter, I found tabby-girl Sherelle in the pantry, flour on her baby nose and clumped in her ears. I was pissed – until I saw her prey in a puddle of powder, blobs of red, dead as anything. I fed the sweetie fish for an entire week.
- Cozy and compact: Even when Sherelle sprawls out, she’s only as big as a throw pillow.
- Silent: They’re creepers – and I love it!
- Self-cleaning: Here my feelings are split. On one hand, fewer trips to the groomers (read: $$$). On the other hand, I don’t need to witness the process.
- Personality: Sherelle is my rebel-rousing most regal of babies. Iggy, the boy-cat, lets her run the show.
- Life-long loves: My babies, I expect, will be with me for some time to come.
- They don’t talk back. This one speaks for itself.
So there you have it, dear reader. My endorsement this election cycle? #CatLadies, #ChildlessWomen and #SingleGirls everywhere.
You can take it to the (river) bank.
Gunnar Olafsson