In article , Cheryl Perkins
wrote:

Howard Berkowitz wrote:

Most respectfully, I suggest this sort of political discussion, which
is, by its nature, divisive, is perhaps inappropriate for RPCA. If one
wished, of course, to discuss feline ideologies...

A much more attractive proposition. Of course, it does rather depend on
coming up with an ideology for an animal not noted for group cooperation
or pack behaviour, pick your term.

Based on a number of years of close examination of a limited number of
such animals, I think a political platform which would appeal to cats
would include provision of the following for all cats:

A constant supply of food which is either eternally varying, or eternally
unchanging, depending on the whim of the cat for which it is intended.

Warm napping places which are not already occupied by a rival cat.

Things to hunt.

and either:

complete protection from any silliness like having to go outdoors

or:

freedom to come and go without any nonsense like doors only humans can
open

Hmmm. With my three, it's more complex, as they are all very closely
bonded.

Mr. Clark, the senior (they were all adopted together but the other two
were kittens), is the Head Cat, and extremely benevolent to two- and
four-legged members of the household. In his mind, I believe his role is
the classic one of the senior sergeant to a new officer: "Sir, you
COMMAND this unit. I _run_ it." He has interpreted his responsibilities
to range from accepting the nursing attempts of kittens (admittedly with
a martyred look), to hugging (paw on each shoulder--he's BIG) and
kissing upset humans, to cuddling and disciplining the younger ones.
I'm not sure if it would be best to call him the Prime Minister, because
he's unusually accepting of my dominance, in a dignified way.

Rhonda may be the Hollywood Liberal, wanting to be the center of
attention, frequently announcing her opinion on most things, and
enjoying luxury, occasionally at the expense of the proletariat.

Ding, in most cases, is the proletariat. An even better description
would put him on the fringes of some French deconstructionist critical
movement, although he lacks a beret and a Gauloise dangling from one
lip. He is often in search of the Meaning of Life, or, in some cases,
wondering if there is such meaning. After his traumatic walkabout a
couple of months ago, he's now back to being quite affectionate, if
occasionally confused. Rhonda, who is about half his size, will almost
invariably win a wrestling match.

When last observed a few minutes ago, there seemed no class or doctrinal
dissent. They were sleeping on the couch, variously spooned or with paws
wrapped around one another.