Рита Браун - Sneaky Pie For President

“I’ll get you,” Tally growled.

“That’s what you say,” Pewter sassed.

Back in the kitchen, the dog drank some water while the human knocked back a Co-Cola. Then they both sat down for a minute. Sneaky had calmly watched the whole dog and cat drama unfold, as had Tucker. They sat together on the floor.

Tucker asked, “Do you really think Hubert saw a vision?”

“Maybe,” Sneaky answered. “People sometimes can see beyond the veil. I don’t know, but she loves to tell the story. Why not believe it?”

“You’re right,” Tucker agreed. “Maybe there are special days and times when we should all dedicate ourselves to doing the same thing. For them it’s a holiday or church. I think all dogs should celebrate Rin Tin Tin’s birthday, and Lassie’s as well.”

“I, for one, celebrate every day,” Sneaky said and purred.

Tally dripped water on the floor off her mustache. “Pewter’s funny, wanting a saint dedicated just to cats.”

“You let her get under your skin. Ignore her,” Sneaky counseled.

The C.O. got up, pulled out some treats for the cat and the dog, giving them out as she reminisced with them, “You all never met my mother. She was social, I mean really social, smart, and a wonderful dancer. We’d go places, and men would line up to dance with Mom. But we didn’t have much money, and she always wanted to go to Austria. She loved music, and she wanted to attend the opera at the big opera house there. She wanted to see the Spanish Riding School, too. She saved and saved. I chipped in, a few of her friends did, too, and for her seventieth birthday, off she went. Pretty fabulous, isn’t it?”

“It is. A dream come true.” Sneaky Pie had seen photographs of the C.O.’s mother, a stylish woman.

“How old is she?” Pewter looked at their human.

“How would I know?” Tucker said.

“You know a lot else.” Sneaky shifted her weight. “But it’s usually easy to tell how old they are. Especially if they’re from Nordic countries. Skin can’t take this Virginia sun.”

“Hers is okay.” Sneaky jumped back up on the table. “Well, she never talks about her age, because I think she doesn’t care.”

“Oh, please,” said Tucker. “They all care. They’re obsessed with it. Billions are spent annually by humans thinking they can make themselves look younger.”

“Billions?” Tally wondered.

“Of dollars.”

“Billions of dollars to look pretty, and it’s not just women. Men, too. There’s plastic surgery, thousands of creams and potions. Stuff they have shot into their skin, even their lips. The mere thought of it makes me cringe. Needles.” Tucker closed his eyes tight.

“Eeww.” Tally did, too.

“Yeah, but our age doesn’t show so quickly.” Sneaky struggled to understand the human viewpoint. “Everyone looks good in fur.”

“Needles in lips.” Tally’s voice rose to a high screech, making the C.O. look at her.

Tucker perked up her ears. “It does sound pretty awful.”

“She’s not doing any of it.” Sneaky peered closely at the C.O.’s face.

“So how old do you think she is?” Tucker wondered, too.

“Hard to tell. No fat. Strong body. Moves fine. But there are deep creases by her mouth, wrinkles around her eyes, and her hair has gray in it. I don’t know. I mean, she has to be kind of old, but she’s not creaky yet.”

“Baffles me. The whole aging thing,” Tucker said. “I guess when I can’t herd the horses or chickens anymore, I’ll know I’m old.”

“They move around more than we do,” said Sneaky. “They meet more of their own species than we do. She just told us about her mother flying to Vienna when she was seventy. So maybe they want to look really good for all the new people and young people are pretty.”

“Nah, it’s about money.” Tucker threw out a dash of cynicism. “The young buy more junk than older people. That’s why so many ads are pitched to them. They don’t know enough about real quality yet, plus they need to establish households. It’s all about spending. I guess that makes older people want to look young, too. You all see the stuff on TV, you want it.”

“I guess.” Sneaky peered more closely at her C.O., who reached out and stroked the cat under her chin. “But I think the surest way to look old is to try to look young.”

Just then Pewter, triumphant, returned. “Ta-da.”

Tally wagged her tail, taking a step toward the gray cat.

“You two: Cut it out.” The human spoke forcefully.

Pewter joined Sneaky on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me you talked to the owl last night?”

“I didn’t tell you because you were too busy with the chain. I like him. He’s not so much like other birds.”

“ M-m-m . He woke up when I was in the hayloft, told me some of what you all talked about. Makes me think. I mean, about gods, goddesses, and now saints. Do you think there were once giants and stuff like that? Dragons?”

“Well, in Genesis there’s a mention of giants. I like it when she reads her books out loud, so yes, why not? Aren’t we all evolving? Some species live. Some die off. If there were dinosaurs, why not giants, dragons, or angels?” Sneaky thought it made sense. “I think of Shetland ponies bred in upper latitudes. Maybe they lived, but fairies and giants didn’t. The creatures that survived lived in the middle latitudes. You know, medium-sized things.”

“You could say in your campaign that you’re descended from a saber-toothed tiger,” Pewter suggested.

“Cool.” Tally liked the image.

“I suppose ultimately I am, but that ancestor stuff doesn’t work these days. Candidates have to pretend to be one of the people, and the truth is, if you’re running for president, you aren’t.”

“ H-m-m . Never thought of that.” Now that Sneaky pointed this out, Tucker could see it. “A candidate is supposed to be like Joe Average. Being rich is a sin, right?”

“Being rich is a miracle,” Pewter replied.

They laughed. “Well, if money is the issue, then Sneaky, you’re one of the people. We don’t have but so much money.” Tucker smiled.

“I know. And that’s what I think will make our human old,” Sneaky said. “She’s like so many humans, worrying about money.”

“Really?” Tally quizzically replied.

“Yes. She struggles. She works too long and too late, and you know what, millions of them do just the same to make ends meet. I don’t want our mother to make herself old, to die of a heart attack or something just to pay the bills, the taxes.”

“Millions?” Tally was aghast.

“Tally, there are seven million people out of work, and that figure only counts those on unemployment. Who knows the true figure—those that are now off the benefit rolls, those that are too defeated and poor to look for a job? It takes money to look for a job, Tally. You need nice clothes, you need gas money and a car that will run. You need a haircut and money for parking, too. If you farm like our mom, you need constant equipment repair, and diesel fuel is so much more expensive than regular gas. Seed prices shot up, fertilizer is through the roof. You’ve seen her fertilize, over-seed, harvest, then store her hay. That takes time, money, and help. No one can farm all by themselves. People are scared, you all, scared, exhausted, and deep-down angry.”

“They made this mess,” Pewter rightfully observed.

“Not all of them.” Tucker was thinking along with Sneaky. “Our human never stole money from anybody. She never sold a bad bale of hay pretending it was good. Those people losing their homes were lured into it, sold a bill of goods, you know. Many, most of them, weren’t financially educated. Maybe they should have known better, but they didn’t. They were deceived by those crooks on Wall Street and in Congress who opened the door for the Big Boys.”