I wonder if Joe Biden knows what he’s getting himself into.
The white-haired new president and his red-haired new press secretary are addressing thorny questions daily about purported bipartisanship; getting vaccines into arms before variants get into noses; taking steps to curtail climate change; figuring out how to get along with North Korea, Russia, Iran, China and the rest of the world; dealing with fallout from stopping that controversial pipeline and the border wall; and distributing promised virus money with or without Republican votes. And then there’s all this business about Q and his predictions, and, oh, yes, a second impeachment trial.
Sounds like quite enough to deal with, right?
But, no. The Bidens want to tackle a question that has been asked and answered many millions of times since dinosaurs left the Earth and other species took over.
Can dogs and cats live together peacefully?
Uh, no, Joe.
My son and daughter-in-law tried it with their cat Albert (named for slugger Pujols).
Albert, adopted from a shelter in college town Kirksville, was a sweet, well-behaved orange tabby, and the rightful king of the house for a couple of years before Remus joined the family.
In my mind, Remus, the Neapolitan mastiff, was large enough to give Clifford the Big Red Dog an inferiority complex, but my son assured me that his ginormous canine was actually a bit of a runt, given his breed.
Whatever.
Albert, quite understandably, was not pleased, and he did what cats tend to do when vexed. He peed.
Eventually, he peed so much he had to go live at a farm where he could be an outdoor cat. If you want din-din, Albert, catch it yourself. Quite a comedown for an animal that once was practically fed by a spoon.
Albert had status before Remus came along (just like the other Cardinals did before Pujols hit town). I wonder if any of them are catching mice for a living now, too.
Word on the street (and the media outlets) is that First Lady Jill Biden wants to add a feline to the White House, where German shepherds Champ, 12, and Major, 2, already reside.
Please don’t go there, people. Learn from the past (not from your elders; given the circumstances, that’s too big of an ask).
If a cat is in the cards, why not turn the world upside down (Joe, you have experience with this) and put out the dogs?
There’s plenty of room on the White House lawn for a Resolute doghouse, and Major deserves to be in the doghouse anyway. He’s the critter who tripped up the president-elect, leading to a broken foot and a walking boot in the weeks before White House occupancy.
Maybe because there are so many things to worry about if we let ourselves, Americans like to obsess about presidential pets. If you’re in that kind of mood, I recommend a piece by Matthew Dessem (findable online) in which he describes 44 notable First Pets.
Interestingly, there is no listing for the 45th president. Donald Trump was the first president in at least a century to share his Washington, D.C., home only with humans. Maybe Mar-a-Lago has a no-pet rule. If that’s the case, Trump should definitely speak to the owner. Pets make life interesting.
Dessem writes about Him and Her, the beagles Lyndon Johnson liked to hold up by their ears (I’m sorry, it’s true); Jonathan Edwards, Theodore Roosevelt’s bear; and Veto, James Garfield’s dog.
There are also paragraphs about Thomas Jefferson’s mockingbird, which sang him to sleep; Chester Arthur’s pet rabbit; and Amy Carter’s cat, Misty Malarkey Ying Yang.
Here I saw a tie-in with Biden, who likes to point out “malarkey.”
Since that name is already taken, I’m willing to serve as a feline-naming consultant for a fee to be determined.
My husband and I channeled through 20 or more pretty awesome names before deciding on “Ivy” for the cat who arrived at Christmas four years ago.
It’s really my husband who has the gift. We had a beautiful long-haired black-and-white female cat years ago. Gordon insisted on naming the kitten “Panda” while I wanted “Charmin” for such a soft, pretty girl.
But when we learned we actually had a male on our hands (after he got both operations! – sorry, fella) we were all happier with the sex-neutral name that won the day.
My older son is also kind of a genius when it comes to naming cats. A pediatrician, he’s had two cats as a grown-up, both with catchy monikers tied to his profession – “Measles” and “Shingles.”
Conversation starters, for sure.
So, check in, Joe. We’ve got skills.
Just don’t try to make those old dogs learn new tricks, like how to polish off a juicy kitten in just one bite.
