Life and Death in Obamastan

    
               I was watching my cat sneak around down in the little pasture below our patio yesterday. She was on a cat commando mission to capture, torture and kill and maybe eat any feasible creature that she could set up. She brought me the ragged, shredded, tailless and still warm and wiggling almost a corpse of a lizard. I hadn't watched the actual ambush, I'd had to wash the dishes and so that's where I was when the mayhem descended. I don't know when she grabbed the little insurgent so I'm uncertain of the length of the interrogation or exactly which techniques she chose for him, but he was ready to talk by the time she dropped him by the water bowl. He hissed at me when I put him in the bushes to live or die, whatever was next for him, and I began to muse.  Louise watched carefully as I let the creature off the hook, probably too late, but at least he'd have been free when he croaked. I was disturbed yet honored at the same time, to have been part of the bloody drama. I looked inward, searching for meaning and truth.
      As I searched, the cat went hunting for more.  She doesn't seem to be arranged around any points delineated by a moral compass, she just does what she does.
  We've had Louise the Queen around here for a while now. She just sort of moved in with us one day and never left. We didn't know her but she seemed nice, so, we let her stay.
 I think she reminds me more of "The Democrats" than anything else around here.