Never Trust a Tabby

A tabby cat, hand drawn by Cato9Tales
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Voting for Trumpet: Part 1.

“Rinpoche, you seem to be very busy lately. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

“I can’t chat for long, Daddi. I’m on my way to vote.”

“To vote?”

“Yes, Daddi. For the new president of the Khat Khouncile.”

“Tell me more about this voting process.”

“Well, there is a choice between Trumpet, who is the leader of the Plutocat Party and Slush, who is standing for the Democats.”

“And which cat is getting your vote?”

“Trumpet, of course! He’s got wonderful orange fur, and he’s famous! He was once in an advertisement for kitty litter.”

“Rinpoche, you cannot base your vote on appearance and celebrity status alone. You have to consider the policies of the candidates as well.”

“Oh I am, Daddi. I heard a speech by Trumpet yesterday, and he wants to make Gloucestershire great again!”

“How’s he going to do that?”

“He says he’ll build a wall to keep out all the tabbies.”

“What’s wrong with tabbies?”

“You can’t trust them, Daddi. They look different from us, and Trumpet says they are pouring into our town. Do you remember that cat that bullied me a few months ago? He was a tabby!”

“I know some very nice tabbies, Rinpoche. You can’t judge all tabbies by one bad example.”

“Daddi, Trumpet says we must introduce a travel ban to keep all tabbies, black cats,
and homeless cats off the catwalk leading into town. Otherwise they will steal our food, our houses, and even our beds.”

“What else does this Trumpet say?”

“He will lock up Slush, the leader of the Democats. He says she’s crooked, and he’s right. Even her tail looks crooked to me. Lock her up! Lock her up!”

“Rinpoche, stop your foolish chanting, and listen to me! You need to think about your vote more carefully.”

“There isn’t time, Daddi. I first have to go and vote. I’ll think later.”

Draining the Swamp

Hand drawn portrait in pastel pencil by Andrea HopeCommission your pet portrait now.


 Voting for Trumpet: Part 2.

“Rinpoche, what’s wrong with you today? You haven’t touched your food.”

“I’m disappointed in Trumpet, Daddi. He hasn’t kept his promises.”

“What promises has he broken?”

“He hasn’t locked up Slush; he hasn’t built a wall on the catwalk; and he hasn’t made Gloucestershire Great Again.”

“Yes, Gloucestershire seems much the same to me.”

“And he hasn’t drained The Swamp, Daddi.”

“The Swamp?”

“The Khouncile Swamp – well, actually it’s more like a small pond… Trumpet always complained that the Democats filled it with their big fish, but now he’s stocking it with his own even bigger fish.”

“All politicians do this, Rinpoche. You can’t trust any of them.”

“But, Daddi, he’s given all the best Khouncile jobs to his children, Cornet, Viola and Sax. These Fat Cats have got the softest beds and eat out of gold-plated food bowls! And they don’t even pay any Trickle Down Squee Tax.”


“What on earth is Trickle Down Squee Tax?”

“There’s a new law that every cat has to pay a tax of one Squee per week to the Khouncile Fat Cats. This can be a mouse, a vole or any other Squee. Trumpet told us that the abundance of food would trickle down to ordinary working cats like me…”

“Rinpoche, you are definitely not a working cat!”

“Have you ever tried to catch a squee, Daddi? It’s hard work! Anyway, not a single squee has reached any of us proletaricats, but the Fat Cats are getting fatter by the day. It’s just not fair!”

“Ah, Rinpoche, it’s like this in the human world too.”

“But at least your presidents behave with dignity, Daddy. Trumpet brawls like an alley cat with any cat that says something nasty about him. And have you humans ever had a president who boasts that he likes to grab pussies?”

“The democratic thing to do is to vote him out at the next election, Rinpoche.”

“Forget about this demo cat tick thing, Daddi. I can’t wait that long. The next election is a whole month away!”

“Well, what would you suggest?”

“Lock him up, Daddi… Lock him up!”

The Gang of Reds

Voting for Trumpet: Part 3.

“Daddi, guess what! Everyone’s saying that the Gang of Reds interfered with our election and helped Trumpet to win!”

“The Gang of Reds?”

“Yes, Daddi – a gang of big, scary ginger bullies. They are foreign cats from Worcestershire. Since the tabbies left, we’ve seen a lot of Reds hanging around our catwalk.”

“How did they interfere with the election?”

“Well, at our elections, each candidate has an empty yoghurt tub called a potta. All voters place a flying insect – a bizzum – into the potta belonging to the candidate of their choice. Afterwards, the bizzum votes are counted. Trumpet won this election because he got the most insects.”


“There are rumours that the Gang of Reds hacked into Slush’s yoghurt potta and ate all of her bizzums, so she got no votes!”

“Did Trumpet have anything to do with this?”

“He denies it, Daddi. But his son, Cornet Jnr, was seen talking to Reds on the catwalk just before the election.”

“If Trumpet was involved, he should be impeached!”

“Cats don’t like peaches, Daddi.”

“No, Rinpoche, I meant… Oh, never mind… What will be done about Trumpet?”

“Nothing, Daddi. The next election is due in two days anyway. And Trumpet has become bored with politics. He’s moving to Worcestershire with his new wife, Morbidity. I believe they are opening a wrestling school for cats.”

Good riddance to him! This is the dawn of a new day for Gloucestershire’s cats.”

“Yes, Daddi. I can’t wait for the next election!”


Keeping Gloucestershire Safe and Sacred

Voting for Trumpet: Part 4.

“Daddi, today is the election for the next president of the Khat Khouncile.”

“I hope you’ve learnt your lesson and will vote sensibly this time?”

“Oh yes, Daddi. I’m a much wiser cat after Trumpet’s presidency.”

“Who are the candidates?”

“Libby is standing for the Democats and Smarm for the Plutocats. I’m definitely not voting for Libby. She’s a female!”

“So are you, Rinpoche. What’s wrong with a female president?”

Everything, Daddi! Besides, Smarm says all females belong in the kitchen.”

“What a misogynist!”

“I rather like the idea of staying in the kitchen, Daddi. It’s warm and has delicious smells. Sometimes, there are scraps of food on the floor too…”

“Tell me more about this Smarmy.”

Smarm, Daddi. He’s a well-groomed cat with very expressive whiskers. And he used to be an actor. You might have seen him in ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof’.”

“No. What about his policies?”

“They are wonderful, Daddi! Smarm is going to Keep Gloucester Safe and Sacred.”


“With his new Holy Tithing Tax. All cats will pay Smarm the very reasonable tax of two mice per week, and, in return, he’ll ensure we are protected from sin and subversion. Gloucestershire has become very sinful, Daddi. Smarm says it’s a Nest of Mice!”

“You mean a nest of vice?”

“That’s it, Daddi! Smarm will sweep the catwalk clean and close down all the cathouses. He’ll introduce something called an ‘Evening Cur Few’ in order to make Gloucestershire less sinful. I think it’s an excellent idea to have fewer curs in Gloucestershire. I hate dogs!”

“Oh, foolish Rinpoche!”

“You’re not being very supportive, Daddi! Smarm is also going to find the missing values…”

“What values?”

“The family ones, Daddi. He says we’ve all lost them. I don’t remember mislaying any values, but I do keep losing things, so he’s probably right. That reminds me, have you seen my new woollen ball anywhere?”

“Ask Smarm to look for it.”

“I will, Daddi. He really cares about all of us cats. I can’t wait to vote!”

“Yeah. Democracy is a great system!”

 The End

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