From: werpetin@risky.ecs.umass.edu (Katrina Werpetinski)
Subject: Garrison Keillor's "Cats Credo"
Organization: I'm *not* organized...that's the problem
Date: Tue, 26 Jan 1993 01:57:26 GMT

My mom sent me a photo copy of an article that I'm guessing came from
the paper back home.  Anyway, I thought y'all might be interested...

Katrina
werpetin@risky.ecs.umass.edu

=-=-=-=
(Reprinted without permission :-/ )

Move may be quite a big feat for Socks

Almost everyone wants to go to Washington for the inauguration except
perhaps Socks, the Clintons' pet cat.  At any rate, that's the surmise
of humorist Garrison Keillor who imagines, in a poem called "Cats
Credo," what Socks must be thinking about these days.

by Garrison Keillor
New York Times Special Features

First of all, I may not go.
I said to them two months ago,
I may stay here, I just don't know.
Oh, it's an honor to be First Cat, I'm sure,
And live in a mansion and have a chauffeur,
But I'm a Little Rock cat from Arkansas,
So was my ma and so was my pa
And all my friends and loved ones dear.
I'd be just as happy to stay right here.
If that sounds bitter, I have a right to be.
For the past two years, I'd look and see
Them grinning and waving on TV
(They never grinned or waved at ME),
As they hunted down every vote,
And they never called, they never wrote,
And I lost eight ounces and my hair turned gray,
And I felt forlorn, and then one day
Suddenly they come home and say:
"In January, we're going away!
We got elected, Socks. Hurray!"
Next morning, I head out to meet some friends
When a mob of photographers descends
And corners me on the sidewalk,
And one of them snatches me up like a hawk
And holds me high--how vulgar and vile!
Like I'm an exhibit at a trial!--
The cameras snapping--you expect me to be
Thrilled about moving to Washington, DC?
Oh, I'll go. Now sweat. Open the gate,
I'll be First Pet, be a cat of state, 
And behave with decorum (which just between us,
Ain't that hard for the feline genus).
But first, let's talk--I understand
That even though the place is grand,
The White House and the White House grounds
Have long been used as a home for hounds,
Big hairy dogs, great filthy louts
With muddy feet and drippy snouts.
Before this cat strolls through the door, 
Every room and every floor
Must be cleaned and steamed and swept and sanded,
And all the backyard be replanted.
Dogs are brutes, they just squat and do it.
I hope you don't expect me to walk through it!
I may be criticized, I may be vilified,
But that White House must be deMilliefied.
I'm going on one condition: that I be
Given absolute privacy.
No one will have access to me.
I won't sit on his lap as a prop
For a warm and fuzzy photo op
When his approval ratings drop,
Or run alongside as he jogs on the beach
Or smile adoringly during a speech.
Let me say plainly, as life is my teacher,
A cat is not a political creature.
I don't press the flesh or get with the plan.
I won't catch mice
Or be an ornament.
I'll give advice,
Sometimes consent,
Always concise
And intelligent.
Mostly I will lie in the sun
Nobly ignoring man,
As cats have done
Since time began.

(c. 1993 Garrison Keillor)

Keillor is the host of "Garrision Keillor's America Radio Company," on
which he delivered a version of this poem after the election in November.
Newsgroups: rec.pets.cats