Press Conference

Written for the Writers Cramp with a word limit of 1,000.

The prompt: It's the year 2492, and dogs and cats have been granted citizenship. Write about the first cat President, and the scandal that rocks his or her Presidency.

Press Conference

“Mr. President. Mr. President.”

President McMeow looked out over the sea of hands and paws. He knew this wasn’t going to be popular but he had obligations. A lot of cat owners, dog haters and cats themselves had contributed to his candidacy. It was time to step up to the table and do what had to be done.

“Mrs. Butterman,” he said, pointing to a grandmotherish woman in the front row. He could count on her to throw him a slow pitch.

She set down her knitting and stood up. “Mr. President, I was just wondering how your first week in office is going. Are you completely moved in?”

Atta girl.

“Yes, Fiona and I are all settled in. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the great state of Virginia for the scratching post. It came yesterday and we’ve already had so much fun with it that we had to move it to the Lincoln bedroom to avoid its temptation. Outta sight – outta mind.”

That got him a few easy laughs. He resisted the urge to purr. That wouldn’t be right given the circumstances.

Once again, the hands started waving furiously. The bloodhound off to the left began to yelp. McMeow tried to ignore him but in the end, he knew he would have to face up to the hard questions.

“Yes, Mr. Sniffster.”

The big dog made a show out of standing up and straightening his color. Finally, “Mr. President, what is this I hear about a new law that requires all dogs to wear collars with their license prominently displayed?”

“I don’t understand the question Mr. Sniffster. All dogs, and cats for that matter, must have their license with them at all times; it’s for their own protection.”

He knew the issue, but he wanted to confuse it as much as possible. Why not? What he said was the truth. He tried to quickly move on to the next questioner but Sniffster was not ready to yield the floor just yet.

“I’m aware of the law Mr. President. I’m just wondering why we need another law that says we should enforce the first one; another law that curiously omits the need to enforce cats and their licenses.”

McMeow tried to ignore the “curiously” remark. Yes, everyone knew he was a cat.

“Mr. Sniffster, it’s not a big deal. Dogs were singled out because, let’s face it, they are more likely to get into trouble than a cat. But really, this is a message to all dogs and cats. Dogs are not going to be singled out unless they do something suspicious. Next question.”

He quickly pointed out a Newfoundland in the back row. Those dogs mostly lay around. He probably hadn’t even heard the previous question.

The Newfie stood and yawned greatly before shaking his head, covering most of the back row in slobber.

“Mr. President, could you describe what “suspicious” means?”

Damn. The beast had been paying attention after all.

“Well, you know, things like mounting other dogs in the park. You know how everyone hates that. Also there is pooping out in the open and barking at things. Stuff like that.”

“You mean stuff that comes down to acting like a dog?”

It was certainly out in the open now. McMeow gripped the podium and leaned forward. In spite of his best efforts, he hissed.

“That’s right. Acting like a dog is what’s wrong with this country. Dogs poop in public and dig holes and stuff. We need to put an end to that right now. I am prepared to build fences around every house that has a dog. It will cost billions but every house with a dog will have a three foot tall fence around it.”

The Newfoundland casually walked over and hiked its leg against the tabby in charge of secret service.

“Dogs do a lot of good. They let people rub their tummies. They sit in laps and lower blood pressure. Most importantly, they keep stray cats out of the yard. By the way, even the smallest dog can jump a three foot tall fence.”

McMeow was becoming upset. He could feel the anger welling up in his stomach. Before he could respond, he paused and hacked up a respectably large hairball.

“But it’s the law!” he finally squawked.

Sniffster jumped up and shouted, “It’s already the law. You’re anti-dog. Admit it. You want to get rid of dogs. What are you going to do when we are gone? Are you going to wag your tail and get excited when your master comes home? Are you going to protect your home against intruders? Are you going to visit hospitals and make the sick feel better? I don’t think so.”

McMeow took a moment to regain composure. “Mrs. Butterman, do you have another question?”

He needed something to redirect the press conference.

As she stood up, a Chihuahua gave her elbow an unexpected nudge; causing her to drop her ball of yarn. The president couldn’t help himself. Ten minutes later, his handlers were untangling him as his eyes began to regain some clarity.

“Now what?” he asked.

“We’ll gather our lobbyists and pollsters together. They will tell us what to do.”

Later that night, as McMeow studied his Payback Checklist, he wondered if he would ever purr again.

Word count 887