Sneaky Pie for President (17 page)

“Yes” was all the C.O. managed to say.

And, for once, Pewter stayed quiet.

Literary Aspirations Revealed

A week had passed since Jones died. All the animals continued to mourn him; he’d been in his pasture since each one had been born. Everyone felt low. The human said nothing but carried a handkerchief to dab her eyes.

This last Saturday in May, everyone but Pewter worked on farm repairs. You’d cross two chores off your list and three new ones would hop on the bottom.

Sneaky used the sad time to canvass more animals. She’d talked to the Canada geese, the chickens (impossible twits), the muskrats, any and all whom she encountered. Every now and then the cowbirds continued their bombing campaign, but they didn’t show up in full force, for which everyone was grateful.

Alone in the house, Pewter had the computer all to herself. Furious that over the years she had been portrayed as
a fat, self-involved diva, she was determined to write a smash novel of her own. The computer was really easy to use. The cat couldn’t understand why they used an apple for a logo. Made no sense. She thought it should be a jet or a cheetah running flat out. A cat never could tell what logos or totems would motivate people.

The human had helpfully supplied the electronic mouse with little ears, eyes, whiskers, and a rubber tail, which amused Pewter as she moved around the device. The gray cat cackled as she worked:

So intent was Pewter on her opus that she didn’t hear Sneaky softly come into the room.

Hoping Pewter was doing research on animal profits, the tiger cat leapt onto the desk.

However, when she edged over to the computer, Pewter quickly saved her work, then hastily cleared the screen.

“Pewts, what are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“U-m-m.”
Pewter fudged. “I’m looking up things.”

“Wildlife stuff?”

Fortunately, Pewter actually had looked up information concerning how much money fishing and hunting licenses brought into states. However, once alone and certain her buddies wouldn’t come back, she then returned to her novel. Sneaky Pie wasn’t the only literary cat. Pewter dreamed of literary fame, too. She could also imagine her vampire cat saga as a feature film. But who would star?

“Uh-huh,” she stammered. “Fishing and hunting licenses for 2011 brought in $783,958,245 for the nation.” She pulled up the computer screen with her research.

“That’s just licenses?” The tiger cat sat on her haunches. “Easy money.”

“Sure is. All each state has to do is give the person a piece of paper with the year marked on it. No service, no nothing. Any idiot can do that.”

“True, but there are people who want to stop those activities.” Sneaky peered more closely at the screen. “Colorado
sells the most licenses.
Hmm
. Let’s see.” They pulled up the information gathered by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. “Virginia makes almost fifteen million dollars. We should make more.”

“That’s what the C.O. says.” Pewter had heard the human talk about fish and wildlife management ad nauseam.

However, even if she pontificated to excess, the domesticated animal did listen. Pewter wasn’t so stupid as not to realize there was a connection between managing wildlife and taking care of domestic animals. The important thing was for humans to recognize their impact on all animals. Sometimes they did. Mostly, they didn’t.

“Hey, look at Wyoming,” Sneaky said. “It has the least number of humans in the country, but the state makes $28,395,536. Somebody’s thinking straight in their state government. Mother always says state government has to solve problems. Federal government just prints more money.”

“I suppose,” Pewter murmured. “You’ve got me thinking about things differently now. This huge national figure of $783,958,245 is found money, gold on the ground. You simply pick it up. It also doesn’t reflect the revenue spent by wildlife enthusiasts. Some of that stuff is really expensive.”

Sneaky Pie chimed in, “They spend money on stays in
motels or special camps, on food, trucks, buying four-wheel-drive vehicles. The list goes on and on. However, fishing and wildlife means clean money. No pollution. Let’s start there.”

“Well, I did check some of the surrounding income. The estimate on that kind of money is one-hundred-twenty-two-point-three billion dollars,” Pewter proudly revealed.

“Wow. Pewter, this is incredible. Take that figure and the seventy-four billion dollars the cattle industry brings in annually and those two things alone make one-hundred-ninety-six-point-three billion dollars. I haven’t even added into account what chickens, turkeys, goats, hogs produce. It’s overwhelming. With these figures, I don’t see how anyone—human or otherwise—could resist my commonsense arguments.”

“Money talks. Bullshit walks. That’s what our human says.” Pewter laughed.

“Then I was thinking some more about our conversation with the Downy Woodpecker, a small fellow by woodpecker standards, but he is bigger than a house wren. In our country, there are twenty-two kinds of woodpeckers, although people say the Ivory-billed Woodpecker is extinct. I know I’ve never seen one, but who knows, let’s hope there are a few out there. Anyway, twenty-two kinds of birds that eat bugs from trees. There are the swallows and
bats, and plenty of birds who eat on the wing, catching bugs as they fly. Bugs or not, all those creatures protect the food supply.”

“Sneaky, this is too big for us. You need a campaign team with paid researchers, publicity people, media experts. We’re just two simple farm cats and two farm dogs.”

“And Mr. Jefferson was one man,” said Sneaky. “Sojourner Truth was one woman. They never gave up. And when Sojourner Truth started walking from town to town to tell her truth, who could have known she would inspire people to this day? Every movement starts with one voice decrying injustice. America recognizes only human effort. Well, I’m only one cat, but I will be heard.”

“Sneaky, we don’t have any money. All this research has shown me that you can be the best candidate with the best ideas in the nation—if you aren’t funded, if you don’t have a good staff, you aren’t going to make it.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t shake things up. I can make change.” A determined look crossed the tiger cat’s face.

Footsteps alerted them. Pewter turned off the computer.

“Hi.”

The two cats meowed as the C.O., tired, walked into the room.

“Are you two hungry?”

“Fresh tuna! Delmonico steak! Mouse tartare!” Pewter rapturously replied.

“Give me one minute. Just one minute.” The human sat down, clicked on the computer, looked to select what she wanted, saw something unfamiliar, and pulled that up. She read aloud:
“Fangs glowing neon white, eyes burning bright, the vampire cats attacked the terrified Great Dane.”
The human jumped back in alarm as Pewter flew off the desk.

Sneaky, bewildered, looked into the C.O.’s eyes.

“I must be losing my mind,” the human said, looking back again at the words on the screen.

The tiger cat jumped off the desk, following Pewter’s scent. The fat gray cat had scooted out the back animal door.

“What’s with her?” In the kitchen, Tucker lifted her head. She’d been napping on the floor after the morning’s chores.

Sneaky zipped out the animal door in time to see Pewter fleeing to the old springhouse.

Within a minute, Sneaky slipped through the old wooden door, slightly ajar. She was greeted with the fresh scent of cool spring water running through the sluice.

“Leave me alone.” Pewter sniffed.

Sneaky was incredulous. “Vampire cats?”

Pewter shot back, “Why not? It’s vampire everything. You think you’re so hot. Well, I will write the
smash
book of the year. Vampire cats! I’ve done some research of my
own. Thirty-nine million people, give or take, have a cat or cats. That’s a lot of potential readers. Plus, there are other people who like cats. My potential fan base is enormous. I’m a celebrity waiting to happen. I’ll be rich as Midas!”

“Before your close-up, you might want to shed a few pounds,” cracked Sneaky. “And just because there are those kinds of numbers doesn’t mean those humans read.”

“Vampires,” Pewts enthused. “Everyone these days wants to read about vampires. And a movie deal will surely follow. Oh, I can just see the vampires with their long fangs, glowing green eyes. And then the screams of their victims! Blood dripping off the fangs.
Vampire cats
. I’m telling you!” Pewter became quite excited. It was alarming. “Furthermore, I’m sick of being portrayed as a fat diva!”

“You take it too personally.” Sneaky demurred because she did indeed think Pewter a very fat diva.

“I’m not even putting you in my book. You will not be a featured character. My cats will be deep thinkers, world travelers—not some hick tiger cat.”

“Fine.” Sneaky sighed. “Come on, Mother’s making chicken sandwiches, and that means fresh chicken.”

“You’re trying to trick me.”

“Pewter, if you want to stay here in the springhouse, go right ahead. If you want to write about vampire cats, go for it, Tolstoy. I hope it works. Good luck to you. It’s a rough business. I just hope when you hit it big, you’ll contribute to
my campaign. You’ve already been a big help at my side on my listening tour.”

“Don’t forget my research.” Pewts pouted.

“Yes, I was just getting to that.” Sneaky smiled.

“Fresh chicken—truly?”

“Fresh chicken.”

A spring in their steps, the cats trotted up from the little creek. Campaigning meant listening to everyone, Sneaky realized. She wasn’t just one cat. She represented many and varied interests, pandering to their egos and, most important, giving credit to others for work you’ve done. Sneaky hoped she was equal to the challenge.

Once in the kitchen, Tally ran up to report on the C.O.: “She’s muttering about vampire cats.”

The trio of animals looked over at her, now slapping Duke’s mayonnaise onto bread.

“You know how she gets.” Pewter airily tossed this off. “Bizarre ideas pop into her head.”

One Moment in Time

During that evening’s sunset, cumulus clouds turned gold, then pink to scarlet, fading to lavender with slashes of purple. It was breathtaking.

Cats, dogs, birds in their nests, the night birds preparing to forage, the foxes, bobcats, bears, deer, beavers, muskrats, and even the craven coyotes all beheld the glorious spectacle.

Humans did, too. The C.O. had phoned some of her good friends to make sure they were watching the symphony of color. With darkness came the night scents. The earth seemed more pungent, the pines sharper. The last of the fruit tree blossoms summoned up a final trumpet of sweetness.