Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, April 27, 1993 TAG: 9304270106
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BEN BEAGLE
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
The other day, for example, there was a television piece showing this cat - named Socks, I think - sitting on the shoulder of the president of the United States after a near-disaster that would have taken your mind off Joe Montana going to Kansas City.
That is, this stupid cat climbed a tree with a leash on it and, to hear the television people tell it, the world stood still wondering whether it would strangle itself.
I have to say here, in strictly non-partisan terms, that it's pretty dumb to put a leash or collar on a cat.
It was unclear to me how the cat got out of the tree. Somebody probably called the Pentagon and they sent a platoon of Green Berets over to Pennsylvania Avenue.
At nearly the same time this White House drama was unfolding, as they say on TV, I was aroused from a rerun of "Designing Women" by the screams of the greatest station wagon driver of them all.
Alert as ever in the defense of my loved ones, I put down the microwave popcorn and looked out the window and the driver was running up and down the backyard yelling "No! No!" at two black dogs who were chasing Judy, who is also black.
At such times, my nerves take on the qualities of steel, and my mind works quickly and logically.
Expertly, I measured the distance between the cat and the dogs and made several instantaneous and complicated mathematical calculations before I met the situation with characteristic calm.
I ran out screaming "No! No!" and watched as Judy outdistanced the dogs by 25 feet and shot up into the maple tree in the front yard.
This was real drama, pal. I guess if something like that happened at the White House, they'd call out the 101st Airborne.
I calmly stood there and waited for Judy, who was pretty cool herself, to come down. When she did, I didn't put her on my shoulder because Judy has a tendency to wound you pretty bad if you do that.
The point here, of course, is that no television crews came screaming up Happy Highfields Road to record this triumph of the feline and human spirits.
I'd have been willing to cooperate. I'd have posed with Judy on my shoulder and tried not to bleed in front of the cameras.
I'd have posed with the two black dogs, who are nice enough sorts, although compelled by their genes to chase cats.
But, no. They don't care about your cat if you're a nobody.
Sorry, Judy. Just remember it's not your fault you took up with a loser.
by CNB