Рита Браун - Sneaky Pie For President

“They all did. Even the North had slaves for a time,” Sneaky agreed.

“Why did they get rid of them?” the gray cat wondered.

“I don’t know. Too cold, or they were too cheap to feed them. Having a wage slave is a lot more clever. You sell them goods from a company store so they get in hock; if they can’t pay for them, you dock their wages. They have to find housing, much of which is owned or was owned by those companies. They pay rent. Right? However you look at it, being poor and powerless is painful,” the tiger cat said. “And that’s why we have to organize. When we falter in our duties, we’re killed, a lot of us. I don’t know, maybe that’s better than what happened to the humans in the old days. They were left to starve.”

“Either way, it sucks,” Pewter succinctly replied.

Tally crawled a little closer to get a look.

“Get back here,” Tucker ordered. “Someone will see your nose.”

Tally wiggled backward. “There are so many people.”

Tucker blinked her eyes. “You sure can smell the cheap perfume and cologne.”

“Oh, it all smells awful, Tucker. Even the expensive stuff like Creed and Amouage.”

They lay next to each other, giggling.

“Our C.O. always worries about money, yet she’ll go out and spend hundreds of dollars on that stuff.” Tucker sighed.

“That’s because they’re irrational. I do have to give that to Sneaky Pie. Dogs and cats are a lot more logical. Perfume?” Tally’s eyebrows raised. “What about that old lady who collects bone china? I mean, she lives in three rooms full of boxes of this expensive china.”

“One of the C.O.’s great-aunts. Did you know some of that china is worth umpteen thousands? Some of it is as old as Monticello.”

“What good is it if you don’t use it?” the Jack Russell pointedly replied.

“None that I can tell. Bet Mr. J. had fine china.” Tucker thought for a moment. “We caught a glimpse of it when we walked through the dining room.” The corgi then added, “Wonder if Sneaky Pie is getting nervous?”

“If I stood next to her at the podium, she’d most certainly be cool, calm, and collected.” Tally knew she was the best running mate, just knew it.

Noncommittally, Tucker said, “Perhaps.”

As welcoming remarks settled the audience, the main speaker followed. Being asked to give the Fourth of July address at Monticello was a singular honor. Presidents may or may not be invited. One couldn’t buy one’s way into this extraordinary moment, but many tried to use influence to be the main speaker, a mighty boost to a political career. So said the C.O., and Sneaky had been listening closely. The selection process applied more rigorous standards than being elected to public office. In some critical fashion, the human in this position needed to embody the spirit of the Declaration of Independence. In years past, that included military people, members of the judiciary, even entertainers who had been born elsewhere and who had then become U.S. citizens themselves.

Year after year, the main speaker reached out to these new citizens, as well as reaching back to the noble ideals of Mr. Jefferson.

Next, the oath of citizenship was read over the microphone by a high-ranking judge. The applicants stood and agreed to the terms. Each new citizen, name read aloud, mounted the dais, was greeted by those on the dais and given their citizenship papers. Of all annual public ceremonies, the Fourth of July at Monticello may be the most emotional.

Emotional or not, Tally felt the prickle of boredom.

Knowing her friend, Tucker advised, “Be still.”

“I’m thirsty,” said the Jack Russell.

“You’ll have to wait, plus, we have Sneaky Pie’s address after this,” the wise corgi said.

“Does every single new citizen have to walk across the dais, shake hands, and take a piece of paper?”

Putting her head on her paws, Tucker replied, “They do. Why don’t you take a nap?”

“A nap? With all these people? What if someone needs help?”

“I’m sure security is up to the task.”

“Security can’t chase mice. You know how terrified some people are of mice. And what if a snake slithers out of the garden? There will be panic and mayhem.”

“Just rest your mind.” Tucker felt this was impossible. Tally fidgeted more by the minute.

“Look at those colors,” said the Jack Russell, as she edged closer to the edge of the bush. “Look at that lady. She’s beautiful. Look at how the breeze blows her dress. You know, a strong wind could tear her clothes off.”

“Tally, that woman is from India. They dress in better colors than our ladies do.”

“Yeah, but what if she winds up naked? She’d be so upset.”

“I doubt the men would mind.” Tucker noticed, as had Tally, that the young lady was exceedingly beautiful, but then, most Indian women are.

After shaking hands with the justice, the woman moved toward the end of the podium and the steps. A stronger puff of wind did lift up the back of her sari, but there were many layers of vibrantly colored thin fabric like gauze.

“I’ll save her!”

“Tally, no!” Tucker tried to bite and hold Tally’s hind leg, but the little dog wriggled away.

“What the hell?” Sneaky cursed as she watched the rough-coated little monster jump up to the woman as she exited the stage.

“I’ll save you,” Tally barked.

Fortunately, the brand-new citizen, perhaps twenty-five, liked dogs, so she leaned down to pet Tally, now the center of attention.

“I’m going to be a vice-presidential candidate. I’m going to save America!”

“Not before I kill you first!” Sneaky, enraged, spat so loudly that the birds above her cussed her out.

“I told you she’s an idiot,” snarled Pewter. “Born an idiot. And she will die an idiot when you kill her, of course.” Pewter adopted her all-knowing pose.

Since the dog had no intention of leaving her, the Indian lady scooped up Tally. She returned to her seat, devil dog in her lap, to the cheers of the assembled.

Sneaky saw from her perch, however, that Leslie Bowman was not cheering. The Monticello director recognized the dog, wondered how the animal had snuck into the ceremony, and at that exact moment would have happily throttled the C.O. Steering a national event like this required steady nerves. Fortunately, the director was equal to it.

Leslie’s daughter Haley ran down to the house, where the C.O. was putting out centerpieces of red, white, and blue flowers on each small table. Flags flew everywhere, and at each place setting there were, rolled up, small Stars and Stripes.

“Your dog is—” Haley breathlessly began. “She’s—” She thought for a moment, hoping to be diplomatic, as her parents had taught her. “Intruded on the ceremony.”

“Oh, no.” The C.O. immediately followed Haley up the hill.

As the two women trotted, then ran to the back of Monticello, Court Neuhoff, a medical person, was ministering to a gentleman from Nicaragua whose son had become a citizen. In his excitement to embrace his son, he rose from his chair, sat down again, because one wasn’t to greet family and friends until every single new citizen was back in their seats. Fidgety like Tally, the man stood up again, but slipped and came down, hitting his metal folding chair hard.

“Sneaky, maybe you should wait until next year,” Pewter suggested.

“But the presidential election is this year,” the tiger cat snapped.

As soon as all were at last pronounced U.S. citizens, everyone stood up, hugging, kissing, and congratulating.

Haley spied the Indian lady surrounded by her parents and friends. Tally was next to her on the ground.

No fool, Tucker stayed away.

“Ma’am, I am so sorry.” The C.O.’s face was red. “I think she wanted to congratulate you before anyone else.”