De Adder Du Jour

We're not sure why it's spelled "heal" here (if you have an idea, please share). But we love the expression on Donald's face. We cats PURR.

(IMAGE: Michael de Adder, deadder.net)

Lest We Furr-get: Nixon Resignation Day

By Baxter

Happy Richard Nixon resignation day! We realize that after 50-plus years, lots of people nowadays don't personally remember the cascading events of Watergate. But what a saga it was! We were watching the destruction of a truly corrupt Republican President — knowing all the while that the guardrails of a solidly secure constitutional democracy would hold firm. (That's the difference between then and now.)

It was mesmerizing to watch Nixon's speech in the East Room that morning. It was true stream-of-consciousness, from "the poorest lemon ranch in Southern California" to his warning that "those who hate you don't win unless you hate them, and then you destroy yourself."

All of us who despised Nixon marveled at his comment about hate. It revealed, we thought, some self-awareness that the GOP, and the media, maybe should acknowledge. But in the decades since, we realize that Republicans have never come clean on this. In fact, they hate more than ever, and the press has given them a pass. We cats HISS.

Completely Predictable

By Sniffles

One of our first thoughts when we heard that Apollo 13 astronaut Jim Lovell had died was whether Benedict Donald had tweeted anything about it. After all, normal Presidents issue official statements and tributes when prominent Americans cross the Rainbow Bridge. Except, of course, Trump is anything but normal.

Donald may have said something by now — we don't know for sure, because we make it a habit not to check on his interwebs presence if we can help it. (In fact, we try to keep our daily lives as Trump-free as possible.) But once we gave it a little thought, we knew exactly what the malignant narcissist in the Oval Office would say.

First, he would briefly mention Lovell's accomplishments, and then talk about how they hardly compare with the "successes" of his seven-month-old administration. He would also claim that he, Donald, deserves all the awards that Lovell received, and more — the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the Congressional Space Medal of Honor, and the Légion d'Honneur (you know how Trump likes those Frenchy things).

Then, he would pivot to the 1995 movie, and say how terrible it was that a radical Marxist like Ron Howard directed it and that a Communist like Tom Hanks played Jim Lovell in it. He would say some nice things about the actor Gary Sinise, who played Ken Mattingly, the astronaut who was scratched from the mission for measles he didn't have. (Sinise, whom we otherwise like, is a conservative in liberal Hollywood.)

Finally, he might say something about Kevin Bacon's character, the astronaut Jack Swigert, who replaced Mattingly and who was later elected to Congress as a Republican (but who died before taking office). However, we're guessing that Donald's overdose of cheeseburgers and Adderall would kick in first — and besides, that kind of political history is too ancient and arcane for him to comprehend.

The bottom line is that we cats hate the fact that we're able to game out these Trump tweeting scenarios. We deeply resent being so closely acquainted with his pathology, and we HISS.

These Pups Aren't Horsing Around

By Hubie and Bertie

Big day at the historic Saratoga Race Course tomorrow: It's the inaugural run for the Saratoga Corgi Cup!

(Yes, we know that we're writing about dogs here, but sometimes you have to bend the rules a little.)

Cats, obviously, are vastly superior creatures, and would never deign to compete in a "race" of any kind. Puh-leez. But when it comes to canines, we share the late Queen Elizabeth's passion — if not for horse racing, for these cute, low-riding pups who always seem to work so hard to get anywhere on those short little legs.

"Forty-eight corgis have been registered by their owners to take part in the competition," the race course reports. "Two qualifying rounds featuring four heats of 12 corgis each will take place on the main track after the third and fifth thoroughbred races of the afternoon. The top three finishers from each heat will advance to the championship round to comprise a 12-corgi field that will go to post after the seventh race."

The best part? Lucky Puppy, Inc. of Argyle, New York, will be there to showcase dogs that are seeking their forever homes. So maybe some lucky pet will go home with a family this weekend, thanks to the corgis.

We cats wish all the racers luck. Tomorrow will no doubt be so huge that soon, Benedict Donald will insist that he be awarded a Corgi Cup himself (just like the Purple Heart). We cats HISS and PURR at the same time.

Lest We Furr-get: The Federal Bureau Of Idiocy

By Miss Kubelik

William Webster's obit and his 101 years on the planet are handy reminders that seeing the Federal Bureau of Investigation in a state of general fuck-upped-ness is nothing new.

When Director Webster took over in 1978, the FBI was still trying to recover from the half-century of endless abuses committed by that closeted freak, J. Edgar Hoover. Then came Iran-Contra (thanks, Ronald Reagan), followed quickly by the government's complete miss on the disintegration of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s. Not to mention all those spies who had been sharing secrets with Moscow. What a mess.

This isn't to say, of course, that the FBI under the cretinous Kash Patel is any better (or the CIA under John Ratcliffe, for that matter). In fact, with only seven months gone in Benedict Donald 2.0, we may learn of even worse scurrility in the years to come. Still, it's helpful to be able to place the Trumpsters in some historical context. Things at the bureau are terrible now, but they've certainly been terrible there before.

One note of caution, though: There were guardrails in place 40-plus years ago that are either gone or very shaky today. We have a supine Congress and a mostly compliant press, so maybe Patel will get away with stuff that William Webster wouldn't have tolerated for a moment — like, say, helping to bury L'Affaire Epstein. We cats HISS.

All Is Not Golden For Ghislaine

By Zamboni

Fun fact: The minimum-security prison in Texas that, thanks to Benedict Donald, Ghislaine Maxwell now calls home is the same facility in which the Theranos fraud Elizabeth Holmes is serving her 11-year sentence. (What if they get KP duty on the same day? What will they talk about?)

Although folks are rightly seething about Maxwell's preferred treatment, things might not be as upbeat for her as one might think. First, her fellow inmates are not happy. "This facility is supposed to house nonviolent offenders," said one. "Human trafficking is a violent crime." So no, Ghislaine's not going to be the first player picked for Bryan Federal Prison Camp intramural basketball.

Second, Maxwell's notoriety and the nature of her crimes have ensured that she will spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder — in jail or out. Just imagine if Trump pardons her, or if the rumors that she's being allowed on excursions turn out to be true. Ghislaine Maxwell is not going to be safe anywhere. (We're not really upset about this.)

Our final Epstein comment of the day is that from recently published photos, Jeffrey's lavish Upper East Side mansion may have been more tastefully decorated than the current White House. Epstein's sense of décor could definitely skew weird — but if he were alive today, he would surely be appalled by Donald's Temu-level Oval Office gewgaws. (At least, when a sane person moves back into the Executive Mansion someday, Trump's cheap knockoffs will be very easy to rip out.) We cats HISS and PURR at the same time.

(UPDATE: Our favorite take on Donald's fucked-up feng shui belongs to this brilliant social media account, which dubbed it "the traditional Cadbury bunny style." We cats PURR.)

That Hugely Consequential Epstein Summit You Were Talking About All Day Was Never A Thing

By Baxter

We cats were out and about today (and had a lovely time). So we weren't glued to the news. But when we got home and did a brief headline check, everyone was screaming about a big Trumpster pooh-bah confab, scheduled for tonight at Observatory Place. The sole topic on the agenda? How to contain the ever-expanding L'Affaire Epstein.

(It goes without saying that when Kamala Harris lived in the Vice President's residence, she never convened a meeting of top-level office holders and advisers there to strategize on how to help a sex offender and statutory rapist escape the consequences of his actions. But that was another Administration, wasn't it? *Sigh*)

Expected to attend this evening were host JD Prance, Pam Bondi, Kash Patel, and Susie Wiles. (Ugh. So much evil in that room.) But then, word leaked out — the interwebs blew up, Epstein victim Virginia Giuffre's family issued an outraged statement, and protesters started lining Massachusetts Avenue. So the meeting was promptly canceled.

Naturally, this motley crew will meet about Epstein some other time, some other way. But these are Trumpsters we're talking about — so not only did they scrap the session, a Vance spokesman said it had never been planned in the first place.

More typical gaslighting. Or maybe the better film reference is The Philadelphia Story. When Tracy Lord's younger sister says she saw Macaulay Connor carry a squiffy Tracy into her bedroom, she's surprised that he simply deposits her and leaves. "He was gone!" Dinah says. "Of course he was gone," Tracy replies. "He was never there." We cats PURR.

Roofies

Nothing Benedict Donald does can distract from L'Affaire Epstein — not even toddling up to the White House roof and — what? Threatening to jump? If only. Perhaps he was looking for the exact place Chip Carter and Willie Nelson smoked weed, who knows? In Republicans' minds, it's probably not too late to haul both Chip and Willie off to the hoosegow. We cats remember better days at 1600 Pennsylvania, and we PURR.

Journalists Need To Understand That Unilateral Disarmament Is Not An Option

By Sniffles

A columnist in a newspaper we read has decided that New York Democrats deserve to be pilloried for even considering mid-decade redistricting — just the latest example of people in the press excoriating us for stuff and giving Republicans a free pass. It's tiresome.

The writer (we won't give him oxygen by sharing his name) calls members of the New York state legislature with Ds after their names "dodos." A clumsy and obvious reach for alliteration, no doubt — but it's silly and illogical. The dodo is extinct, but Democrats in Albany are plentiful. Maybe that's what drives him crazy.

Like other opinion writers, the dude in question leaves out important facts. He did mention that New York Democrats are reacting to what Benedict Donald is pushing Texas to do. But everybody needs to know that Texas is not working in isolation: Ohio, Missouri, Indiana, Florida, and other GOP-led states are going down the same road. Their efforts could mean a dozen more Elise-Stefanik-like Trump puppets in the House of Representatives. With authoritarianism on the march and guardrails crumbling, that's pretty frightening.

Note to journalists: Try covering the Republican state legislatures like the ones in West Virginia, Ohio, Florida, Iowa, and Oklahoma, and then scream about how bad New York Democrats are.

Or as Governor Kathy Hochul would say, "It's bullshit." We cats HISS.

(UPDATE: Speaking of Governor Hochul, she welcomed several Texas legislators to New York today and said, "We are at war. The gloves are off." Watch it here. We cats PURR.)

The White House Fades To Black

By Hubie and Bertie

How much better for us Americans to be like the British or the Canadians — who either offer their PM modest living quarters guarded by a cat, or who, feeling frugal, aren't much interested in fixing an official residence that's fallen into disrepair.

But for those of us who care about the White House, these are dark days. Benedict Donald is turning 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue into a garish presidential palace. Now he says he's adding a ballroom (and spending $200 million of, make no mistake, our money to do it). A ballroom. Gee, that's funny — we thought that was what the East Room was for.

And what is he doing, demolishing the East Wing? It's kind of unclear, but then again, would it matter? Moose & Squirrel (aka "the Third Lady") seems not to ever be there. Does she even have a staff?

So maybe it's time for us to let any fond feelings about the Executive Mansion go. Its history is kind of spotty, anyway. Built by slaves, burned by the British, and not really infused with any kind of glamor until 1961, when John and Jackie Kennedy moved in. It's pretty clear that that's what Trump is trying to do: erase any trace of the Kennedy mystique. (See also: "Trump Center for the Performing Arts.")

Or maybe we'll just hang on until a Democrat gets elected again and can tear out all vestiges of the VulgAryan. We cats watch and wait, our tails switching. In the meantime, we HISS.