So I was lying around by the picture window catching some rays when somebody reached down from the perch and swatted me right on the nose. I opened one eye and looked around for the offender, and of course it was Shimmie, The White-Pawed Menace. I growled at him but he ignored me and said cheerfully, "Big brother, I need help understanding something."
"Oh yeah? I thought you already understood everything."
The sarcasm washed right over him. "I've been reading the paper and I just don't understand the administration's Middle East policy."
I sighed. "Why don't you ask something easier, like how come we're not allowed to eat chicken off the table but only from our food bowls?"
"Nah, I understand that. It's because the humans want to keep the tastier chicken for themselves. The poor things, they have so much aggravation in their lives, I say let 'em have their little pleasures. But Obama's Middle East policy, I just don't get. I thought Israel was America's friend and Iran was its enemy, but Obama acts like it's the other way around. Why is that?"
I yawned and stretched. "Okay, little brother. Here's what you're gonna do. Go over there to the TV cabinet, get the DVD marked 'Blazing Saddles' and pop it in the drive." You would not believe what we cats get up to while you humans are out scurrying around like particularly witless mice. But again, I digress.
So we watched Mel Brooks' masterpiece about a black guy played by Cleavon Little who is made sheriff of a 19th century Western town by a crooked state attorney general who hopes to scare off all the white townspeople so that the railroad can come in and knock down the town and he can get a cut. There's a scene in which the townspeople look like they're going to lynch Little, and the elderly white preacher stops them by holding up a Bible and hollering to the crowd, "Remember what this good book says!" And then adds, in an aside to Little, "Son, you're on your own."
"Okay," I yawned at that point. "You can stop the DVD now."
"But we haven't even got to the farting scene yet!"
"Yeah, I know that's your favorite. But I just made my point, okay? Only it's the white preacher who's Obama, not Cleavon Little."
Shimmie looked puzzled, so I left him to work it out for himself. But not before I said softly, "I may look like I'm going back to sleep. But remember, Shimmie. Big Brother is watching you."