“OBOTS HAVE NO EXCUSE”
by OPOVV, ©2015
(Nov. 29, 2015) — I live out in the boondocks, the place where if you’re lost you’ll likely find yourself asking directions from someone holding a shotgun. It’s the land of lost animals, also: lost and abandoned. A couple of months ago I looked out to the back porch and saw a couple of kittens running around, chasing each other in and out of the flower pots and my target shooting chair, table and platform. Turns out a pregnant cat decided to have her brood under my back porch. Within a week the mother and kittens moved in and were driving the dog crazy.
It wasn’t that the dog was anti-cat (she’s not); it was the dog is anti-fighting. Whenever I’d take her to the dog park, if there were an altercation, she be right in the mix acting as the referee ordering the combatants to take a break, make up and let’s all live in peace and harmony.
Kittens do three things: sleep, eat and fight. Of course it’s play-fight, not the real thing to the death. There’ll be a ball of kittens in a big fight, then all of a sudden that same fighting ball of energy turns into a ball of kittens sleeping peacefully in positions that a cat contortionist would have a hard time duplicating.
On particularly nice days I’d let the kittens out to play and then round them up at night, and if the mother helped, a three-hour ordeal was but a three-minute exercise. Thanksgiving Day was such a day, but when the kittens returned that night we were short two, so we left the mother out until morning as a guard. Come morning we had the mother, but the missing kittens never made it back.
I couldn’t help but wonder what those last moments must’ve been for those two kittens. I figure that the kittens thought the attack, from whatever source, was all play: that they didn’t recognize the danger until it was too late, and by the time they figured out that they were in dire straits, that they were engaged in an activity that they weren’t prepared for — a fight to the death — and it was all over.
The role of the mother cat will be forever undetermined. Obviously, she kept her kittens safe under the porch until they were big enough to climb small trees, jump up steps and have the ability to see clearly for long distances. Also on the day of the mysterious disappearance the kittens were fully weaned.
So what happened? One kitten survived (along with the mother), and yet the rest of the litter vanished, as dust blown away by the wind.
If you compared the kitten’s outlook on life — narrow: every play-fight ends in a nap — and the Obots’ outlook on the question of “WHERE’S THE BIRTH CERTIFICATE?” (Obama showed his computer-generated fake Birth Certificate), the parallel is frightening: one day the Obots will wake up and say to themselves, “What happened?”
But the big difference between the fate of the kittens and the fate of the Obots is that the kittens — when they reach kitten heaven — have an excuse: Obots have none.
And that’s it: by the time the Obots figure it out, it’ll be too late, just as the kitten‘s rude awakening that lasted but a small fraction of a second: Sharia Law will be a fact of life. “Same-sex marriage partners step off the ledge of this 20-story building, if you would, please: holding hands optional.”