Around here, I’m called “The Twitch.” Fred and Yul think I don’t know what they really mean.
Joke’s on them because I’m flattered. Twitch describes my mercurial ways to a T. In a flash, I can go from cuddling on a lap to huddling under the bed. One minute I’m blissfully warming my toes on Yul’s tummy – the next I’m chasing him around like a fury. On Monday, chicken with rice is my favorite meal – on Tuesday, I won’t touch the stuff.
In humans I think this is called schizophrenia. But I’m just being the perfect cat.
It’s too bad Hillary Clinton isn’t a cat because she’s being called rude names and John McCain thinks it’s funny.
Some unidentified McCain supporter got her 15 anonymous minutes of fame by asking, “How do we beat the bitch?” She probably doesn’t realize she revealed herself with a capital B to all us females who get pretty sick of being dominated by men.
And now Kathleen Parker, whose columns usually make great litter box liners, is warning men to quit bashing Hillary because it might make women side with her. God forbid women should support each other. We might actually gain the upper hand.
On the other hand, Hillary would instantly end her run for president if she ever got tired of all this personal abuse and called her petty critics bastards.
But if she did it, I wouldn’t blame her a bit.