What do you mean, you didn’t notice I was gone?
I’ll bet you thought that when I lost the presidential election, you wouldn’t hear from me again but that’s not the way things work these days. Nobody shuts up anymore.
Oh, I grant you, Jeb Bush has been pretty quiet but that may be because he isn’t certain that the election is over and it’s safe to come out. Hillary Clinton certainly hasn’t put a lid on it (a book, a million interviews) and neither has former President Barack Obama (most recently seen being smug with Prince Harry in England).
Nope, nobody keeps their trap shut and goes away quietly like they did in the old days, so why should I? I’m still a young cat, in the prime of my life really, and I am in no way ready to be relegated to the litter box of history.
I’ll admit I was sorry not to be named to a cabinet post by President Trump. I’m at least as sharp as Omarosa and a lot less volatile. I was hoping to be able to create my own position, something along the lines of Secretary of Napping and Bouncing off the Furniture but this never materialized. Am I bitter?
(No answer. An hour passes)
Sorry! Dozed off. But if anything, it just proves my sterling credentials for that cabinet post. You asked if I was bitter? Yes, I’m bitter. For heaven’s sake, an unshaven tramp in a filthy coat named Steve Bannon was White House chief strategist! I could have told Donald it would end badly — roadkill is more presentable than that guy. I hear the administration is recommending rabies shots for anyone who came into contact with him.
Speaking of rabies, I believe it may be my association with my housemate Eloise that poisoned my chances with the new administration. Eloise is essentially an international criminal and she would collude with anyone for an extra scoop of Iam’s Hairball Care Cat Kibble.
Eloise is exactly like Kim Jong Un, an overweight, unstable maniac with a penchant for junk food and a willingness to attack exposed flesh — or lob a ballistic missile — just because it’s Thursday.
The problem couldn’t have been my health because there is absolutely nothing wrong with my health. To prove this, I am authorizing my veterinarian to answer any questions you may have about my recent checkup:
Toast’s vet: “Yes, Toast is in fine condition, and she has excellent genetics. She weighs in at a lean 8½ pounds, and the extra Fancy Feast Ultra she enjoys appears to be doing her no harm whatsoever. She is up to date on all her vaccinations and she is free of fleas. Toast is also a pleasure to examine, unlike other cats I could name ... “ (Here, the vet glances pointedly at Eloise) “... who require two people, leather gloves and the need to be wrapped in a large blanket during their visit to keep everyone safe.” Talking to you, Eloise.
Also, I could have been a huge help to the president with his social media presence. Like him, I routinely crush it on Twitter, although he has 46.7 million followers and I have 759. The mainstream media can’t keep either one of us down but I tweet about tuna a lot more than he does.
Toast to DJT: “You might stir up less drama if you tweeted about tuna all the time like I do.”
DJT to Toast: “Flaky Toast tweets about tuna 24/7 and expects to get Twitter followers. Sad!”
I am often asked about my intentions for 2020. OK, no one has even mentioned it but never mind that. What’s important is my willingness to serve the American people, or to be brutally honest, their willingness to serve me.
Let’s get real here, people. You know the phrase “dogs have owners, cats have staff”? Well, if I were president I could finally have staff I deserve. If I could power nap in the Lincoln bedroom, I could achieve every cat’s dream — a seat at the table of power and a food dish in the Oval Office.
So why, you ask, should you vote for me, now that you know my motives are completely and utterly selfish? Don’t think about that now, let me climb into your lap, rub my head against you and purr loudly while staring into your eyes.
You know you’ll do anything for me if show you a little affection. Keep staring into my eyes and listen to my purr — aren’t I adorable? Yes, I am. Now, get me some food.
Finally, I’m trying out a different slogan for the new campaign. Last time around it was “Make America Late Again.”
Everybody loved permission to be late but it’s time to switch it up to something even more powerful. Something simple, yet strong, something that emphasizes my cat nature, yet promises unanimity, diversity, social justice and unlimited tuna. Something like ...
#I’m with fur.
Toast Archibald (@toastcat4618 on Twitter) tweets from a sunny spot on a pillow in the front window. Marilyn Archibald (email@example.com) enables her.