A tale of two cats

Red vs. brown, conservative vs. liberal, Republican vs. Democrat, reactionary vs. progressive, these are the tell-tale signs of my two very different cats.

It is the best of times for the red beast, home-raised, home-bound, defender of the land of his upbringing, a retired soldier who would fight an intruder to the death, almost done in an attempt to fulfil his mission. A family man, dedicated to his adopted family’s values, openly affectionate and needy in an ethical way. Self-reliant, personally responsible for his actions. Open and honest, willing to trade his time for rubs and pets from human strangers. Open to free trade in foodstuffs, even cheetoes, random carbohydrates and generic offerings of dry kibbles and canned selections. During the worst of times he made the best of his hairballs, compulsive scratching, hair loss from fleas, raging hunger from tapeworms, lost voice from a major offensive and his chronic, raspy cough. Having risen like a Phoenix from a childhood trauma, he lives life as an optimist and never misses an opportunity to appreciate a warm spring breeze in his senior years.

It was the worst of times for the poor, abandoned, brown baby, his welfare dependent upon my largesse. Yet I am rewarded by a lack of generous purrs. His exceptional purrs, however, occur during his selfish homoerotic adventures in the night with the quilted comforter on my bed. Playful on his own terms, he’s a mean tease to the elderly red, conservative cat and to his guardian that provides his food, lodging and protection from the big, bad outdoor world. He’s never beyond drawing a little first blood with his tooth or claw without evidencing any shame. He acts as if he is just a victim of the circumstances of his wild cat inheritance. Safe in his den, he’s unwilling to freely exchange his ideas or talents with visitors to his home; he’d never leave it if it required defense. He hides from strangeness itself, preferring the security and predictability provided by those who govern his life. Healthy, happy, self-absorbed, he bows to free trade by jumping on a keyboard and sitting on the shelf of his computer as his owner surfs the net. He’s a beauty. Joy’s his middle name. Shining, orb-eyed, muscular, the picture of health, it is the best of times for the brown cat in his prime.

The party lines sometimes blur between my red, conservative and my brown, liberal cat, but when each feline’s moderate soul touches my heart, party differences disappear and I thank the God who allowed them both to enter the non-political arena of my existence.