Mister Huggins Goes to Washington

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I am the mother of a black cat. Though it may be a little silly, I suppose it’s still politically correct for me to call myself Mister Huggins’ mother. I’ve been informed, by animal rights activist friends, that considering myself his owner is now frowned upon. Though anybody who’s ever lived with a cat would tell you that Mister Huggins actually owns me.

Ten years ago I started feeding a little stray tuxedo female, and was overjoyed that in my care she went from being skinny and woebegone to happily chubby. I thought she was too young to bear a litter, as she was still practically a kitten herself. But I came home from work one sizzling September afternoon to find her sitting on my patio, looking totally astonished and surrounded by four tiny furballs.

Kittens having kittens! Sounds like a social problem. It is undoubtedly yet another progressive cause waiting to be born.

I took the lot of them in from the heat. Relieved of her maternal burden, as soon as the litter was weaned, the mother ran away. Believe it or not, my leftist pals bemoaned the capitalist callousness that had caused this tragedy and commended me on my sense of social responsibility. Actually, I’m pretty sure you can believe it.

Black cats, pit bulls, and dolphins can’t vote, although some dolphins are undoubtedly smart enough to do a better job of it than many humans.

The boy kitten who looked like his mother was immediately adopted by one of my MoveOn friends. She warned me that I’d better keep the other boy, because — being solid black — in the cruel world he would face a lifetime of discrimination. I’m not making that up either.

Hoping to spare him stigma, I gave him his very un-sinister name. Mister Huggins has grown up, like his sisters, to be a very civilized and affectionate cat. Altogether I have four cats and a dog, and we are a very happy blended family.

Another friend, battling on the front lines of the animal rights crusade, regularly sends me sad stories about the plight of dolphins, wild burros, pit bulls, bowl-confined goldfish and — of course — black cats. Nearly all the organizations from which these dirges originate want donations. And, of course, legislation is always urgently needed.

Must we fear that this craze will reach the manic proportions of many other progressive causes? I think we can rest assured that it won’t. Black cats, pit bulls, and dolphins can’t vote, although some dolphins are undoubtedly smart enough to do a better job of it than many humans.

Actually, perusing the pitiful offerings of the last nationwide election, I was tempted to run Mister Huggins as a candidate for Congress. Hollywood would surely immortalize him: Mister Huggins Goes to Washington!

I think he’d actually bring in some fresh ideas. But, alas, that’s only a pipe dream. Not only because he isn’t human, but because he’d surely buck all those big-government hucksters and become a libertarian. Nobody owns a cat. Mister Huggins has a mind of his own.

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