It has recently come to my attention that the Obama Administration wants to regulate cat food. In making the announcement Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack called cats "one of our sacred national treasures" and expressed concern that cats might be receiving food that is not worthy of "their elevated status".
I don't know anything about this Vilsack fellow, but what I eat is none of his damn business. He doesn't own me, he doesn't feed me, he doesn't pet me. In fact, he doesn't know me or anything about me. What perverted ideas does this man hold that he thinks he can tell me what I can eat?
Vilsack singled out Tuna and Egg as an example. Tuna and Egg happens to be my favorite treat. I don't get it often, and the thought of never having it again makes me want to hop on a bus and go poop in his shoes. But I don't have money for the bus fare and I doubt that my human companions will let me borrow their credit card.
But a deeper issue is at play here. My limited understanding of American history tells me that the colonists rebelled when England began taxing them without their consent. They disputed the right of the King to tax them while denying them representation. Regulating my food is no different--it is regulation without representation.
The last I checked, I am not allowed to vote. (I'm not allowed to drive either, but that is a different issue for a different day.) Even though I have no voice in electing the President or members of Congress, the federal government now proposes to come along and yank away one of my life's greatest pleasures. And why? Because Vilsack claims that Tuna and Egg contains tuna that isn't fit for human consumption.
Well I've got news for this intellectual retard--I'm not a human. I'm a cat. And I am perfectly happy eating whatever it is in the can labeled Tuna and Egg. Christ, I lick my butt after all. Why does he think I care about the quality of the tuna in my Tuna and Egg? I know why--because he is an intellectual retard.
I've got news for Vilsack. He can have my Tuna and Egg when he pries it from my cold, dead lips.