Why my cats are like the democratic primaries

As the primaries for my state draw near, I find myself in the predicament facing many Americans: I am an undecided voter. I have two equally promising candidates, who have vastly different personalities. What I love about Hillary Clinton is quite a bit different from what I love about Barack Obama. But, who will ultimately win out in the caucus of my affections? Like many voters, I turn to my cats, Lucy and Linus, as I struggle through this year’s oh-so-important political decision.

Lucy, oh Lucy, my feline Hillary Clinton. Smart, doughy Lucy who I have had since I graduated college. Lucy whom I have loved since the beginning. But, sometimes, I am not so sure that Lucy loves me back. Sometimes, she seems to prefer my roommate, even though it is not my roommate who feeds her. Why is that Lucy? Your fleshy, spotted belly points to cat chow as one of your hot-button issues. Yet, night after night I see you curled up on Abby’s lap. Cat chow is to Lucy what health care is to Hillary Clinton. Hillary, your priorities would seem to be in one area, but your actions don’t always agree. Will I always see you curled up, fat and happy, in the lap of others who have not treated you as well as me? I woke up in the middle of the night, as I often do, to find Lucy curled up next to me in bed. At the end of the night, Lucy is always there. Ms. Clinton, when I wake up in 4 years, will you be curled up, shedding all over my pillow?

And then there is Linus, my furry Obama. Linus is slender, sleek and black, striking in a way it’s hard to put your finger on. But Linus is annoying. Why? Why are you always there with the kisses, getting in my way, throwing yourself prostrate on the floor, paws waving? But, Linus, when you stand on my dresser, hind legs poised to leap to a seemingly-unattainable balcony, I cannot help but think to myself: “oh, yes, The Audacity of Hope.” Barack, your dreams are big and inspiring, but are they attainable? Linus makes it to the balcony every time, will you?

Linus is the younger of the two, the one who probably has more life left in him. But there is something to be said for the indifference that can only come with age that Lucy has acquired. In reality, how much can and should be done with the problems in other countries. Isn't there something to be said for sitting on the arm of the couch, watching sunbeams drift across the living room, rousing only to demand more food? But, Linus' persistence is admirable. As the Obama posters and slogans assault me as I walk through my neighborhood, so is Linus' little nose literally in my face every morning, approximately 2 hours before I would like to wake up. He gets the job done though and I get up to give him food every time.

I sit here, looking at my cats and I am torn. I could not possibly say which of them I love more. But, if the future of my country depended on it would Lucy’s aloofness trump Linus’ figure eights that I trip over every morning. I can’t possibly say. And maybe the real decision lies in what my cats would think of the candidates. And ultimately it will probably come down to: Who will clean the litter box.