That’s me, (or rather, that is I), lounging on one of the colorful Catalan pillows that mama throws around the couch. We live in France but near Catalonia, which really wants to be its own little country and secede from Spain but hasn’t yet worked out just how to do that. The Catalonians think they make all the money because of their very astute business sense and then have to give it to Madrid and the Spanish government and they think they contribute more than they get back. Barcelona’s street signs and highway signs are now almost all in Catalan, not Spanish. Get the picture?
It’s still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die…la la la…
But among kitties, we’re just kitties, even if we profess to be French or Italian or Catalan or whatever, we’re still just four-pawed, playful, smart hunters who love a good dish of food every now and then and maybe a ball of yarn or a string or a mouse to bat around. And lots of petting, don’t forget that. Hey, isn’t it what everyone wants? Except maybe the mouse.
Simple pleasures, I’d say.
But still these tugs of war go on—the Catalans and Spaniards, the Israelis and Palestinians, the gays and straights, the Republicans and the Democrats, the whites and blacks, the low-caste and the high-caste, and on and on and on. Not to mention alpha dogs and the other ones who roll on their backs and look worried.
Why can’t anthros be more like us kitties. Just roll around in some nice grass, maybe take a break for a kibble or two, look around for new birds on the block, get petted and stroked and then take a bath to wash off all that stroking and get back to our pristine selves, but with no complaints except that maybe our kitty box needs a scoop or two. Hey, wouldn’t life be easier?
No worries, mate, as they say down under, wherever that is…
Someday the world will get itself in shape, thanks to us.
