Sneaky Pie for President

by Rita Mae Brown

  Sneaky laughed. “Or with the C.O. She’s always banging on about taxes, the cost of things. I know it’s hard, but she shouldn’t let it get her down.”

  “Taxes don’t make sense. Maybe all the humans should just not pay them.”

  “If they did that, one by one they will be destroyed—economically, I mean. The IRS will prosecute them, confiscate their property. She better pay her taxes,” said Sneaky. “I don’t want to move.”

  Tucker quickly rejoined, “But what if it was a mass movement of thousands or millions? Just refusing to pay.”

  “I suppose that would do it,” Sneaky said. “But more than anything, right now the humans need a leader.”

  “Then they can all pay their taxes and shut up about it,” Tucker firmly stated.

  “I agree with you there.” The cat thought a long time as the sky changed from gold to scarlet right where the sun had set, hot pink toward the north but gold to the south.

  She never could figure out why the color varied, nor why some sunsets produced deep colors while others filled the sky with pastels.

  “You know our human is good in a crisis, but she’s no politician. If someone’s in trouble, though, she can get everyone together.”

  “Politics is poison to her,” said Sneaky. “I’m the leader of the family.”

  “How come you don’t hate politics?” asked the corgi.

  The cat tilted her head for a moment. “M-m-m, I don’t much like the cowbirds or the coyotes. I don’t understand the fish. We’re all animals, but they’re foreign to me. Yet I don’t want to see them slaughtered, I really don’t. Though I don’t want to work with them.”

  “Same for humans, I guess,” said the corgi. “Some like one kind of human, some another. Now, back to taxes for a minute.”

  “Yes.” The cat perked up her ears.

  “I can’t help thinking if the humans refuse to pay taxes, a whole mess of them, and instead they spent their own money fueling the economy, it will improve.” The dog smiled broadly.

  “That’s a fact. But to be legally secure, they’d have to put their tax liability in an account to prove they were doing just as you said. I think it’s called escrow.”

  “That’s crazy. Spend the money.”

  “Or they should invest,” said Sneaky. She was prudent about resources, mostly from sitting with the C.O. at the desk when she tried to figure out expenses, seed and fertilizer needs, food bills, all that. “Investing means you might make money,” the cat explained.

  “I thought that’s why humans worked,” Tucker said.

  “Yeah, but if a human invests, they make money off the work of other humans. Plus, their investments build companies and pay for research. It’s to our own detriment that animals don’t invest. It’s a big weakness.”

  “It is not,” said the corgi. “And we do invest, sort of. I bury my bones for future use. You’re talking about pie in the sky. If you can’t carry it in your jaws, it’s useless.” The dog felt one hundred percent sure on this topic. “I can dig up my bone whenever I want. What good is a piece of paper?”

  “Tucker, what works for us doesn’t work for them,” said Sneaky. “They worry about things that happened in the past, miseries now, what can go wrong in the future. I think investing is a way to dampen all that worry.”

  “Like I said, pie in the sky,” said the corgi. “Who knows what tomorrow will bring, or even if there will be a tomorrow? Live for today. Doesn’t do you any good to tell them. That’s the thing, you have good ideas, but a lot of animals have good ideas—humans don’t hear them.”

  “I know.” The tiger wrapped her tail around her as she sat. “I think I can reach our kind, especially most domesticated animals, some wild ones, I hope.”

  “Well, I’m all ears.” The dog’s pink tongue stuck out as she panted a little.

  “I’ve been toting up sums,” said Sneaky. “Pewter’s helped a bunch. One-hundred-twenty-two-point-three billion dollars from hunting, fishing licenses, and ancillary costs, only partial costs, but that’s the best we could do. Seventy-four billion dollars each year from cattle alone, and another three-point-five billion dollars from dairy cattle, milk, cheese, that stuff. Then you add in sheep and lambs, that’s five-point-six billion dollars a year. Hogs are sixty-eight billion dollars. Chicken, turkey, poultry are maybe one-point-six billion dollars, and horses alone are one hundred two billion dollars. The whole pet industry is about fifty-point-eighty-four billion dollars. That’s four hundred billion dollars, give or take. None of this reflects the jobs created for humans by animals. None of this reflects what animals do to help humans—you know, like bats. So I would hazard a guess that our contribution to the United States economy each year has to be about one trillion dollars. I don’t think we will ever truly know, but we produce revenue, jobs, and, really, health.”

  Tucker was astonished. “If you can ever find a way to reach humans, that number should wake them up.”

  “If it doesn’t, can you imagine animals going on strike? Cats refusing to catch mice? Cattle running away from those trying to round them up for days? I mean, we could create far more chaos than folks withholding taxes. Why is it that people only learn through disruption and pain?”

  Tucker defended their human. “Oh, our C.O. learns other ways.”

  “She does, I suppose, but on big political issues I don’t think she’s one bit different. Something hurts them, then they finally pay attention. Can you imagine what an animal strike would do, combined with a true tax revolt?”

  “The government would crash and burn,” Tucker soberly replied. “We don’t want that.”

  “Quite the opposite. But sometimes one has to be destructive in order to be constructive,” the tiger cat sagely noted.

  “Sneaky, that’s all getting over my head. You can’t talk about stuff like that on the campaign trail. You’ll be branded a revolutionary and be ignored. Stick to the money.”

  “I will. Of course, if Rush Limbaugh called me a slut, that would get more attention.” She giggled.

  “You’re spayed.” Tucker giggled back. “Your virtue is above reproach.”

  Welcome to America

  July 4 was blessed with sunshine and lovely cooling breezes, promising to be one of the best days ever for welcoming new citizens to the United States.

  Chairs faced a dais. Also seated on the dais next to the judge who would swear in the new citizens was Leslie Bowman, the director of Monticello, the celebrity who would give a brief (it was hoped) speech to commemorate the special day.

  Up in a tree with the birds, Sneaky Pie and Pewter watched as the people about to become citizens sat in the front few rows. They had been born in other nations. They were every color a human animal could be, different faiths, different ages, males and females, and who knows if there was anyone in between those two somewhat false poles of gender? Nobody cared. What mattered is that to be eligible for U.S. citizenship, these people had undergone a course of study over time. They then took a test to demonstrate they understood America’s founding principles. Each person had to swear allegiance to their adopted country, to bear arms against the country of their birth, should the United States find itself at war with that nation. Such a promise, such study, required much dedication and soul-searching. It was inspirational, thought Sneaky.

  The about-to-be citizens often knew the Constitution better than those who had the supreme good fortune to be born U.S. citizens.

  A national treasure such as Monticello can operate only with the help of many people, people who give their money and their time. Legions of humans visited Mr. Jefferson’s home in 2011, and most left with a sense of what life was like in the late eighteenth century and early nineteenth century. They took away some sense of Mr. Jefferson himself, his family, the slaves, so many of whom had highly developed skills, often promoted by the master. Slavery, sanctioned by the Old Testament, by thousands of years of human endeavor, and currently alive in parts of the world today, nonetheless left a tr
oubling legacy visible at Monticello. Recognizing this and various thorny historical matters, the current director and Dan Jordan, the immediate past director, were to be congratulated. How easy to deny, dodge, gloss over this fundament to success?

  The two cats and dogs discussed the past as people filed in, taking their seats, breaking out little paper fans. Most everyone who was well acquainted with a Virginia summer wore a hat.

  The C.O.’s old truck was parked down at the Bowman and Neuhoff house under a shade tree, windows open. The animals had long since slipped away, of course. That Leslie Bowman and Court Neuhoff didn’t care that a beat-up truck was parked among the gleaming BMWs, Mercedes, Jaguars, was a statement in itself. Mr. Jefferson would have approved their egalitarianism.

  The cats in the tree could more easily hide than the two dogs. Tucker and Tally, staying quite still, had crawled under nearby thick bushes to observe the proceedings.

  “He had a wolf by the ears.” Pewter pronounced judgment on Mr. Jefferson’s slave owning.

  “They all did. Even the North had slaves for a time,” Sneaky agreed.

  “Why did they get rid of them?” the gray cat wondered.

  “I don’t know. Too cold, or they were too cheap to feed them. Having a wage slave is a lot more clever. You sell them goods from a company store so they get in hock; if they can’t pay for them, you dock their wages. They have to find housing, much of which is owned or was owned by those companies. They pay rent. Right? However you look at it, being poor and powerless is painful,” the tiger cat said. “And that’s why we have to organize. When we falter in our duties, we’re killed, a lot of us. I don’t know, maybe that’s better than what happened to the humans in the old days. They were left to starve.”

  “Either way, it sucks,” Pewter succinctly replied.

  Tally crawled a little closer to get a look.

  “Get back here,” Tucker ordered. “Someone will see your nose.”

  Tally wiggled backward. “There are so many people.”

  Tucker blinked her eyes. “You sure can smell the cheap perfume and cologne.”

  “Oh, it all smells awful, Tucker. Even the expensive stuff like Creed and Amouage.”

  They lay next to each other, giggling.

  “Our C.O. always worries about money, yet she’ll go out and spend hundreds of dollars on that stuff.” Tucker sighed.

  “That’s because they’re irrational. I do have to give that to Sneaky Pie. Dogs and cats are a lot more logical. Perfume?” Tally’s eyebrows raised. “What about that old lady who collects bone china? I mean, she lives in three rooms full of boxes of this expensive china.”

  “One of the C.O.’s great-aunts. Did you know some of that china is worth umpteen thousands? Some of it is as old as Monticello.”

  “What good is it if you don’t use it?” the Jack Russell pointedly replied.

  “None that I can tell. Bet Mr. J. had fine china.” Tucker thought for a moment. “We caught a glimpse of it when we walked through the dining room.” The corgi then added, “Wonder if Sneaky Pie is getting nervous?”

  “If I stood next to her at the podium, she’d most certainly be cool, calm, and collected.” Tally knew she was the best running mate, just knew it.

  Noncommittally, Tucker said, “Perhaps.”

  As welcoming remarks settled the audience, the main speaker followed. Being asked to give the Fourth of July address at Monticello was a singular honor. Presidents may or may not be invited. One couldn’t buy one’s way into this extraordinary moment, but many tried to use influence to be the main speaker, a mighty boost to a political career. So said the C.O., and Sneaky had been listening closely. The selection process applied more rigorous standards than being elected to public office. In some critical fashion, the human in this position needed to embody the spirit of the Declaration of Independence. In years past, that included military people, members of the judiciary, even entertainers who had been born elsewhere and who had then become U.S. citizens themselves.

  Year after year, the main speaker reached out to these new citizens, as well as reaching back to the noble ideals of Mr. Jefferson.

  Next, the oath of citizenship was read over the microphone by a high-ranking judge. The applicants stood and agreed to the terms. Each new citizen, name read aloud, mounted the dais, was greeted by those on the dais and given their citizenship papers. Of all annual public ceremonies, the Fourth of July at Monticello may be the most emotional.

  Emotional or not, Tally felt the prickle of boredom.

  Knowing her friend, Tucker advised, “Be still.”

  “I’m thirsty,” said the Jack Russell.

  “You’ll have to wait, plus, we have Sneaky Pie’s address after this,” the wise corgi said.

  “Does every single new citizen have to walk across the dais, shake hands, and take a piece of paper?”

  Putting her head on her paws, Tucker replied, “They do. Why don’t you take a nap?”

  “A nap? With all these people? What if someone needs help?”

  “I’m sure security is up to the task.”

  “Security can’t chase mice. You know how terrified some people are of mice. And what if a snake slithers out of the garden? There will be panic and mayhem.”

  “Just rest your mind.” Tucker felt this was impossible. Tally fidgeted more by the minute.

  “Look at those colors,” said the Jack Russell, as she edged closer to the edge of the bush. “Look at that lady. She’s beautiful. Look at how the breeze blows her dress. You know, a strong wind could tear her clothes off.”

  “Tally, that woman is from India. They dress in better colors than our ladies do.”

  “Yeah, but what if she winds up naked? She’d be so upset.”

  “I doubt the men would mind.” Tucker noticed, as had Tally, that the young lady was exceedingly beautiful, but then, most Indian women are.

  After shaking hands with the justice, the woman moved toward the end of the podium and the steps. A stronger puff of wind did lift up the back of her sari, but there were many layers of vibrantly colored thin fabric like gauze.

  “I’ll save her!”

  “Tally, no!” Tucker tried to bite and hold Tally’s hind leg, but the little dog wriggled away.

  “What the hell?” Sneaky cursed as she watched the rough-coated little monster jump up to the woman as she exited the stage.

  “I’ll save you,” Tally barked.

  Fortunately, the brand-new citizen, perhaps twenty-five, liked dogs, so she leaned down to pet Tally, now the center of attention.

  “I’m going to be a vice-presidential candidate. I’m going to save America!”

  “Not before I kill you first!” Sneaky, enraged, spat so loudly that the birds above her cussed her out.

  “I told you she’s an idiot,” snarled Pewter. “Born an idiot. And she will die an idiot when you kill her, of course.” Pewter adopted her all-knowing pose.

  Since the dog had no intention of leaving her, the Indian lady scooped up Tally. She returned to her seat, devil dog in her lap, to the cheers of the assembled.

  Sneaky saw from her perch, however, that Leslie Bowman was not cheering. The Monticello director recognized the dog, wondered how the animal had snuck into the ceremony, and at that exact moment would have happily throttled the C.O. Steering a national event like this required steady nerves. Fortunately, the director was equal to it.

  Leslie’s daughter Haley ran down to the house, where the C.O. was putting out centerpieces of red, white, and blue flowers on each small table. Flags flew everywhere, and at each place setting there were, rolled up, small Stars and Stripes.

  “Your dog is—” Haley breathlessly began. “She’s—” She thought for a moment, hoping to be diplomatic, as her parents had taught her. “Intruded on the ceremony.”

  “Oh, no.” The C.O. immediately followed Haley up the hill.

  As the two women trotted, then ran to the back of Monticello, Court Neuhoff, a medical person, was minist
ering to a gentleman from Nicaragua whose son had become a citizen. In his excitement to embrace his son, he rose from his chair, sat down again, because one wasn’t to greet family and friends until every single new citizen was back in their seats. Fidgety like Tally, the man stood up again, but slipped and came down, hitting his metal folding chair hard.

  “Sneaky, maybe you should wait until next year,” Pewter suggested.

  “But the presidential election is this year,” the tiger cat snapped.

  As soon as all were at last pronounced U.S. citizens, everyone stood up, hugging, kissing, and congratulating.

  Haley spied the Indian lady surrounded by her parents and friends. Tally was next to her on the ground.

  No fool, Tucker stayed away.

  “Ma’am, I am so sorry.” The C.O.’s face was red. “I think she wanted to congratulate you before anyone else.”

  “She’s adorable,” the young woman said in her light, beguiling accent.

  The C.O. would have argued that point, but not now. She knelt down, picked up the dog, tucked her under one arm, and with her other hand fished in the pocket of her summer skirt, pulling out a card.

  “Ma’am, please call me.” She handed the lady her card and addressed her family and friends. Virginia hospitality always made her friends. “Please let me make this up to you all. I would love to have you all out to the farm for a celebration dinner. My friends would be happy to meet you.” She paused. “There are a lot of other animals.”

  They smiled politely. The young woman petted Tally, then hugged the C.O. She was so thrilled to be a new American. “I will,” she said.

  The people began to walk down and away from Monticello. The citizens and families headed for the director’s house. The horses hung their heads over the fence line.

  All the way back, the C.O. seemed preoccupied with how she could apologize to Leslie. She met up with Liz Blaine, the right-hand person at Monticello.

  Not one iota of shame, Tally greeted her. “Hello, Miss Liz.”

  Liz couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re in the doghouse.”