Blog Archives

Day 10

1/29/2017

Ten Terrific Things About Trump: The Best List Ever

Jan. 29, 2017
Hi, everyone, this is Cat.
Phoebe has the day off (big surprise), so I’m filling in.
I bet that headline gave you the willies. You probably just finished reading “1984” or watching the “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” where things don’t turn out so hot in the end for the “heroes,” who find out that resistance is always futile. So you’re thinking: “Oh, no: Phoebe’s given up and gone over to the Dark Side.”
Worry not, Happy-Enders. Phoebe will be back soon with her baseless optimism about America being a kind, welcoming democracy that always moves forward and is a beacon of hope to the world and all of that other liberal mush.
In the meantime, I thought I’d bring little “reality” to the blog that you never see in Meanstream Media.
What I’m going to do today is give you is A List of Ten Terrific Things About Trump. It will be a beautiful list. A list of ten things. The most amazing list in the history of lists. You’re going to love it.
YOU MIGHT HAVE NOTICED that this blog up to now has been filled with terrible, despicable, disgusting, and not-great-for America negativity about me, and never, never has a friggin’ positive thing to say about Cat.
‘Cat blocks Phoebe from going upstairs.’
‘Cat ambushes Phoebe with her Trumpian claws.’

Let me tell you about the real Cat.
Cat is a very successful cat. He may be the most successful cat in cat history. Cat has an excellent health record, even though he barfed all over our humans’ bed last night.
This record will be made available to the public as soon as his vet complete her spellcheck of Cat's chart.
Humans adore Cat. In fact, Cat may be the most

beloved cat in Newport and even all of Rhode Island.
Cat is incredibly handsome.
  People are often surprised by just how good-looking he is because usually they just focus on his weight and enormous stomach that Cat drags on the floor, and they forget to look at Cat’s spectacularly handsome face and luxurious striped fur. Cat is beautiful.
Cat is very welcoming of visitors, especially women, and he snuggles up to them as soon as they sit down on a couch or take the seat next to him on an airplane.
THE LIST. I am going to present the Top Ten Terrific Things About Trump List. Your eyes will fall out when you see this list. After you read it, you won’t want to read another list. Ever.
But first, remember earlier how I mentioned that Cat is the most popular cat in Rhode Island? It occurs to me that some lowlife reporter in Meanstream Media right now is turning that into a negative story, reminding readers that Rhode Island is the tiniest state in the country, and he’ll use some cliché like: Large Toad In A Tiny Saucer.
They’re in for a surprise, a development as shocking as the one that the Meanstream Media missed on Nov 8, 2016. I’m not authorized to say right now about the details except to say that I’ve written to President Trump about the fact that the White House doesn’t currently have a cat and offering my services for $1.50 a year.
And you’re saying: Sure, Cat. Sure you’re going to the White House.
  Let me mention this: In Rhode Island, we have a saying when we’re looking for a favor from government: “I know a guy.” So let me remind our readers that two of the most beloved and respected people in the new Administration, Mike Flynn, the president’s national security adviser, and Sean Spicer, the press secretary, are both Rhode Islanders. I’ll leave it at that.
So, where was I? The List. Here it is:
The Terrific Things About Trump List
    #1. Trump is a great dresser.
Overlooking the weird, long neckties, Trump has great suits. Maybe the best suits ever made in China, suits befitting a billionaire. If you look closely at Donny Trump’s suits in high-def, they seem to fit him really well.
   #2. Trump won the Electoral College. Yes, he did.

    So, there you have it, a great list, the best list ever.
Any questions?
Yes, right there in the back of the room: You say, “Cat, you promised a list of ten terrific things about Trump. Where are the other eight?”
I never said that. I didn’t say anything about ten or any other number. What I said was that I would give you the best, most impressive list you ever saw. Greatness isn’t a matter of numbers, although Trump has great numbers, maybe the best numbers ever, beautiful numbers.
But it’s not the role of the media to put a number on that list or anything.
Numbers, statistics, all the data that you see in the media: they’re all just part of fake news.
Believe me.

Day Nine

1/28/2017

Trump'sTerrifying, Tumultuous,Trying & Tiring First Week

Jan 28, 2017
"WHAT'S YOUR excuse going to be?” Cat asked.
“What do you mean?” I said,
“What are you going to say about not writing about the president – not one friggin’ word –for the last four days?” Cat replied.
“Can’t you read?” I retorted, but regretted right away that I was getting into it with Cat, since he isn’t fond of dogs. When Cat starts a conversation, it never ends well.
“There was an Editor’s Note at the end at the last posting,” I explained with my cultured Lady-of-Newport, Rhode Island, voice. “It said that Phoebe had the day off. Even a catbrain should figure out that I won’t be writing on some days.”
“Must have missed that,” Cat sneered. “Like the president, I don’t usually make it to the friggin’ end of anything in the gosh-darn Meanstream Media.”
I have to apologize once again to readers for Cat’s language. It’s not really his fault. He came from a shelter in nearby Massachusetts. It’s no picnic living in shelter, especially in that part of Massachusetts, and he’s trying hard to learn Newport manners. So please cut him some slack.
“It’s MAINstream Media, Cat,” I said patiently. “And the reason I don’t write every day is that I need to spend time with our family.”
“You call sleeping all day on the sunporch ‘spending time with our family?’” Cat said, raising his voice while doing that squeezy thing where the claws start to poke out of his paws.
“Not the real reason, is it, Muttmouth?” he continued. “You just can’t stand that President Trump is rip-roaring to make America great again. Sure, you can listen to him for one or two days.
But not every day. Not day after day after day after day. You just slink off to your couch on the sun porch and hide your adorable head under a pillow or stare hopelessly out the window.”
“You shut up, Cat. You don’t know anything,” I said.
“I know a fraidydog when I see one,” Cat said. “Fraidydog. Fraidydog is scared of Trump. Fraidydog.”
“You shut your hole,” I screamed. “You don’t have any idea. How could someone with such a small catbrain know anything. Just shut the f--- up.”
HE HAD ME again, just like I worried he would.
It’s true.
It’s only been a week since the inauguration. And it seems like every hour, on the hour, the president comes out with something mean, cruel and dangerous.

“He signs an order wreckng Obamacare,” I said to Cat. “He signs another, saying refugees, people who’ve run for their lives, can’t come to our country. Then he restarts those environment-wrecking pipelines. Gag-orders the scientists. This morning, he’s going to call up Putin so they can plan the medical experiments they'll do on American who’ll lose Affordable Care coverage."
“He says he’s going to build “The Wall.” Make the Mexicans pay for it. Maybe he’ll tax goods made in Mexico. Maybe he won’t. One way or another, he’ll make the Mexicans sorry.”
“His lackey calls the New York Times, tells the media keep its mouth shut."
" Trump says he’s all for torture, except his defense secretary told him not to. So maybe he won't.”
“It doesn’t stop. Somebody says it’s only been a week, but it feels like a year. And you know: he’ll go after Social Security and Medicare.”
“The news was getting so bad, so relentless, so mean, so terrible, so exhausting. that one of our humans, the Mean One, actually turned off NPR. shouting that he just can’t take it any more. He tells the Nice One that a friend, A JOURNALIST, says she’s on a “news diet,” to limit the amount of awful things she hears and reads so she won’t go crazy!”
“So, yes,” I told Cat. “Some days I just can’t write. Can’t think. Need time off. I know I can’t let Trump wear us down. And every morning, I say I have to keep trying. Today is one of those days.”
I COULD SEE that Cat was actually listening. Then he said, sounding genuinely curious: "Rewind the tape to the part about Social Security. You’re a dog. Why do you care about Social Security?”
“Our humans get Social Security and Medicare. Take those away, and they can’t pay the bills, and they’ll get sick and die. And you know what that means.”
“No, Phoebe, tell me what it means,” Cat said, looking a little sad.
“The street,” I said. “We’ll be on the street. Maybe you’ll be sent back to the shelter? Would you like to be sent back to Massachusetts?”
Cat didn’t answer right away. He was on the stairs, heading for the second floor, where he usually camps out, following the path of the sun from room to room.
“No,” he said. “Not really.”

Day Five*

1/24/2017

Trump,Truth and Time

Jan. 24, 2017

SO I WAS saying to the cat, whose name really is Cat, how upsetting it is that the country’s Human-in-Chief is a liar.
“What do you mean?” Cat said.
“It’s what they’ve been talking about ever since he was inaugurated,” I said. “He makes stuff up and then says it’s the media that spreads mean things about him, like when he called CIA people Nazis, but when he went to Spook headquarters, he told them the media people are always trying to make him look bad.
“Where’d you hear all that?” Cat said.
“It’s what they are talking about on the Ashbrook program right now,” I said, stamping my foot, which is not one of the body parts that makes me seem cute, unlike my incredibly long eye lashes.
As usual, our humans had kept the radio going when they left us alone in our house in Newport, R.I. As I may have mentioned before, perpetual, incessant, constant and continual NPR can get on your nerves after a couple of years. Yes, I said YEARS!!!!
AN EXCEPTION, and I think Cat actually agrees with me, is “On Point,” a discussion and call-in program weekday mornings, hosted by Tom Ashbrook. It has interesting topics, usually about the news, and Tom is one of those moderators who listens to what people are saying.
“They are talking about what, Phoebe?” said Cat, with that infuriating pretend-to-be-oblivious voice he uses when there’s something on the radio that doesn’t make Trump seem qualified to be the president of the street in front of our house, much less president of the United States.
Cat also is very squirrely about his politics, and I suspect he doesn't tell pollsters the truth when they they call and the humans are away (myself, I just hang up).
“Lies, Cat,” I said. “Trump lies.”
“All humans lie,” Cat said.
“They do not.”
“Do.”
“Don’t.”
“How come the Grouchy One tells us that ‘We’ll be back in five minutes’ whenever he and the Nice One go somewhere?”
“He’s just trying to make us feel better by saying they won’t be gone that long,” I said.
“It’s still a lie,” Cat said.
“Is not.”
“Is, too,” Cat sneered. “The Grouchy One thinks that you can’t tell time.”
“Well, he has a point,” I said.
“Look, a lie is a lie," Cat said. "When someone lies, it leaves you hanging. Can't make plans. Can't figure out how to vote. Can't argue. Can't depend on anything. Can't even tell what the hell time of day it is,” Cat snarled. (I should warn you right here that Cat’s language can get pretty wild.)
I COULD TELL that Cat was getting into one of his moods. where he might do something really mean – a sudden swipe of Trumpian claws across my cute, wet nose, for example – so I decided to let the matter drop.
“Maybe we should catch a little shut-eye,” I said, with a yawn. Just the mention of a nap usually overwhelms Cat. Indeed, he headed upstairs for the guest bed, and I climbed onto the couch on the sunporch.
To tell you the truth, Cat and I have it pretty good here. We keep up with the news, thanks to Tom Ashbrook and, we have a lot of nice choices of where to bed down while waiting for the humans to come home.
But it would be a heck of a lot easier to fall asleep if you weren't expecting to see the humans walking through the front door any second. I mean, five minutes shouldn't take that long a time, right?

* EDITOR'S NOTE: Phoebe doesn't write every day, in case you're looking Day Four

Day Three

1/21/2017

In Visit to Spook HQ, Trump Hounds Media

Jan. 21, 2017

SO IT TURNS OUT that while my humans (the Nice One and the Grouchy One) and I were whooping it up at the Rhode Island Women’s Rally in Providence, R.I. on Saturday, Trump was in Langley, V.A., at Spook Heaven, trying to make nice with the CIA.
I know this because, as I’ve mentioned, Cat and I are forced to listen incessantly to NPR on the radio when the humans abandon us at our home in Newport, R.I., which happened today when they went to the theater in Pawtucket, R.I., the city where the longest game in baseball history was played.
One of the few things that Cat and I agree on is that NPR can really wear on you after you listen hour after hour after hour after hour. Did you know that if you let NPR tow away your old car, it can be sold at auction, and then NPR gets some money, which it use to produce “the programs you love” and you can get a couple of bucks off your income taxes?
If you don’t know that, you haven’t listened to NPR for hour after hour after hour. They have these commercials for this tax scam every five minutes (at least in dog and cat minutes). Some of the ads are narrated by anchors and reporters, who sound alike with their deep know-it-all voices. Every time they get to the punch line about turning your old car into the programs you love, every one of them makes it sound like they just discovered the Dead Sea Scrolls.

IN ANY CASE, Trump told the Spookgals and the Spookmen – who during the appearance undoubtedly stowed their pink pussy-ear hats in the diplomatic pouches they keep chained to their ankles in case they need official Spook equipment like poisoned-tripped canes, exploding Cuban cigars and Russian hotel videos – that the same man who had called them Nazis a couple of days ago loves them now.
Even Cat choked on that one, and I have my suspicions about who Cat voted for, something we can get into at another time.
Next, Trump took off after the news media like a dog after a squirrel, saying the media conspired to report Trump’s inauguration crowds were smaller than Obama’s.
Now look, there’s nothing wrong with a president or anyone else going after a squirrel. Squirrels belong on the national security no-fly list, since, as someone correctly described them: “Squirrels are just rats with good public relations.”
WHY DO I CARE about the attack on the media, since I’m just a dog? I turn it back to you: Why are you reading this? Because I’m a dog with a blog. Which makes me a member of national journalism pack. Any attack on one of us is an attack on the entire pack.
The fact is that the press pack has decided not to call Trump a “liar,” because a liar, according to some dictionary definition, is somebody who knowingly misleads, and no one can really know what’s in Trump’s mind, which itself is a whopper of an understatement.
Instead, we have to leave it that Trump’s version “doesn’t square with the facts.” Aerial photos of both inauguration crowds show that Obama’s crowds were bigger. And the radio – or maybe one of my humans said – that some transportation authority said more people rode public transportation to Obama’s event than to Trump’s.
ACTUALLY, these facts don’t interest me, either.
You know why I don’t trust Trump? No dogs have moved into the Trump White House that I’ve heard about. Whereas, the Obamas had TWO Portuguese Water dogs, the beautiful Bo and the sunny Sunny.
Which brings me to my closing argument: Can you believe a president who doesn’t have a dog?
I rest my case.

Day Two

1/21/2017

Rhode Island Rallies for Democracy

Jan. 21, 2017

  I WAS ONE of the thousands upon thousands of ladies, and the guys who love them, who went to the Rhode Island edition of the Women’s March on Washington today.
   And no, I didn’t wear one of those little pink pussy-ear hats.
Now, before you go all Tweety on me, I have nothing against beings who wear pink pussy ears. In fact, I think they are a clever, creative and even smart-assed (not to mix metaphors) putdown of our crotch-grabbing 45th president of the United States of America.
\
  IT JUST HAPPENS that an important member of our household here in Newport, R.I. is a creature (and as you know, I chose my words carefully) named “Cat.” Cat is, in fact, a cat. Cat does not like me for just one reason: I’m a dog. She sometimes ambushes me when I’m simply walking past her, and she often camps out on the front hall stairs so I can’t get to the second floor, where I have my own futon.
Personally, I wish Cat would cut it out. I was here first, and I try to engage him in conversation when the humans are away, usually about what we’re forced to listen to on NPR, which the humans leave blaring on the radio whenever they leave the house. But he’s practically the only being on Planet Earth who doesn’t think I’m cute and “sweet” and have gorgeous eye lashes, and it’s hard to get him talking about anything.
So, I know something about prejudice, and now you can understand why I didn’t show up at the rally in cute little pussy ears. I did put on one of my best purple bandannas that really go quite nicely with my luxurious, almost snow-white fur coat. It’s not just vanity; when a dog puts on a bandanna, it’s a signal to humans that she is “one of the good ones” and not to get all scared and shivery.
And this no-pussy-ears thing should not be misinterpreted to mean I wasn’t eager to be at this rally, because, frankly, if I weren’t a dog or if I had my own income or at least a trust fund, I would have hopped a plane to the District for the major rally.

ALSO, I AM A GIRL, despite an operation early in life that I don’t like to discuss, but which happens to a lot of us, and I really, really wanted to join the sisterhood at the State House, which happens to be one of the most gorgeous Capitols in the United States.
And boy, was I surprised by how many sisters and brothers were there, too.
How many, you ask? How the heck should I know? I’m a dog, not a mathematician.
Really, it was a joyful day. I got a lot of pats on the head from pussy-hat-wearing women and men, and lots of compliments about being cute. And I got to hear the governor of the state of Rhode Island, who is one of us – a real lady. Did you know that? And so is the secretary of state. Did you know that?

SOMEBODY pointed out that it was sunny and warm here in Rhode Island, compared to yesterday, when Mr. Doom and Gloom was taking the oath down in DC and giving his mean and menacing inaugural speech, and it rained.
Here's one theory:

When Trump became president, God cried; when the ladies, and the gentlemen who love them, gathered the following day, God smiled and warmly.
FRANKLY, I’m not one of those religious dogs that believes that God is dog spelled backwards.. I basically only celebrate Christmas, and that’s because the humans give me and Cat gifts to open when everyone else rips into theirs.
But what I’m saying that IF there is a God, then it makes sense She would arrange for some sunshine.
.

Day One

1/20/2017

A Menacing Speech

Jan. 20, 2017

  GRANTED that I have a whole bunch of super senses that you don’t have; but you don’t need a shnoz with a gazillion smell receptors to figure out what was happening in Washington today.
And, of course, watching TV in the safety of my living room here in Rhode Island, I wasn’t able to use my signature gift of smell to get a handle on Donald J. Trump’s first day as commander-in-chief.
  But what I could see with my baby-seal eyes and hear with my velvety soft ears was enough to understand that this was one awful inauguration.
That scowl on DJT’s mug, as he was waiting to get sworn in…. Well, if I’d seen that look on someone who MyMan and I encountered during one of our frequent walks around Newport, I would have immediately steered us – with a powerful tug of the leash – to the other side of the street, and quick.
And if you didn’t see that look of pure menace in his high-definition close-up, then just a couple of lines from the growling, snarling inaugural speech he gave in his first few minutes as president of the United States of America, would give anyone the shivers, even somebody like me, with a rich, thick winter coat.
Here’s a sampling, courtesy of a transcript I got from the Washington Post website this afternoon.
  I know, you’re wondering: What’s Phoebe, a twice-adopted, part-Yellow Lab, part-Husky, mixed with dash of Missouri hound dog and some eye of newt (Nice Shakespearian touch, huh?) know about the Internet, much less politics? There’s a lot I can explain at a more appropriate time. And, to be frank, there’s a lot about life that will always be a mystery, even for a sensitive philosopher-pooch like me.
I digress.Here are some excerpts from the maiden speech by what New York Times’ columnist Paul Krugman calls the “Trump-Putin Administration”:

  We’ve enriched foreign industry at the expense of American industry; subsidized the armies of other countries, while allowing for the very sad depletion of our military.

We've defended other nations' borders while refusing to defend our own.
We must protect our borders from the ravages of other countries making our products, stealing our companies and destroying our jobs.

This American carnage stops right here and stops right now… from this day forward, it's going to be only America first, America first.
… The bedrock of our politics will be a total allegiance to the United States of America, and through our loyalty to our country,

   Scared me.
Here’s why. And let me say that I don’t mean to be pedantic (I could have said “petantic” for chuckles, but I’m trying to be serious).
Note how he was baiting us with the idea of “The Other.” Blaming the “small group” of greedy politicians standing behind him on the inaugural platform for all the nation’s ills; accusing other countries of stealing “our” companies.
As a dog, I know all about that pack-mentality stuff, and believe me, it’s not the best part of dog tradition. It’s deep in our genes. I’m at my worst when another dog dares to walk by my house, or the Postlady actually gets onto the porch to deliver the day’s bills. Arf. Woof. Can’t help myself. Centuries and centuries and centuries of worrying that The Others will pull a fast one on our pack.
I say this even though I’m regarded as “sweet.” Everyone who meets me says so. “Oooh, what cute eyelashes: she's so sweet.” Even the vet who looked me over after I was shipped to Rhode Island as a stray puppy from Missouri wrote in my medical chart: “Sweet dog.”
So it’s not good to taunt about the danger of The Other. Not good for usually sweet dogs or mostly nice humans.
And what’s going on with that “loyalty” and “total allegiance” stuff?
You can beat it into us; or you can let it happen.
But loyalty gotten the wrong way will come back to bite you.
Dogs know.

A "sweet dog" and a smart opossum consider a nation at risk.

The writers

PHOEBE, a "sweet dog" who came to Rhode Island in 2010 as a stray puppy from Missouri, was a political agnostic until Trump's catastrophic election. She tracked his presidency in a blog, which she decided to resurrect it this year when it became obvious that Republicans are committed to Trump's destructive policies

MR. O, an opossum, showed up in Phoebe's backyard somewhat mysteriously. He turned out to have genuine insight into political matters, and he agreed to assume co-author duties of the blog after Phoebe's previous writing partner, Cat, a cat, died.

CAT

﻿Day 10