Today is the day.

The world is waiting, breathless, to see what we will decide.

We may not know the outcome by the time we go to sleep.

Only history can tell if we chose wisely.

History, and Olive.

Yes, kittens, it is decision time. We would be irresponsible not to address it on this blog. We know you turn to us for hard-hitting journalism.

This is the sole media outlet you can trust to tell you the unvarnished truth about Taylor Ham‘s brazen theft of multiple macaronis from the spork of an innocent staff member.

No other news source dares to cover Uni‘s campaign to antagonize Gator by sitting one inch from his overnight crate and yelling “noiny noiny noiny noin!” Tune in next week for Gator’s exclusive interview with Martin Scorcese on why he should not have to be crated overnight anyway, and by “Martin Scorcese” I mean Betty.

So, yes: it is time to talk about Election Day.

No, kittens, not that Election Day. You have heard entirely enough about that Election Day. We are here to talk about the decisions that will reverberate across generations, or at least this afternoon.

We are here to talk about the names that are not printed on any roadside placards, although Tabby’s Place’s own Hunterdon County is the home of the Breakfast-All-Day Party, which has an unprecedented 100% vote from our residents.

We are here to make difficult decisions.

At the top of the docket is a ballot measure. Shall the “No Treats, No Justice Act of 2024” provide relief for the Lobby residents summarily deprived of their constitutional rights to (1) meat nuggets shaped like stars (2) meat nuggets shaped like hearts (3) meat nuggets shaped like unidentified nuggets and (4) the sundry varieties of squeeze-meat resembling carnivorous GoGurt?

In other words, can Olive, Hips, and all their rotund associates get some friggin’ treats, please?

(Bonus ballot item: Shall Olive, Hips, and all their rotund associates have permission to send the meanie weenies known as “humans” to the secret Tabby’s Place dungeon without dinner? Please?)

Then we have the heavily contested election for Executive Goofus of Suite E. The pollsters and bookies have given up on this one. The margin of error between Shaggy, Juel, and Elton is thinner than … well, thinner than Olive on that treatless diet.

To make things more complicated, Shaggy, Juel, and Elton want to win in a three-way tie, the better to spread their message of happy-go-luckiness to all of Earth’s grumps, glomps, and miscellaneous purveyors of gloom. They are rooting for each other. They are also rooting for us.

But across the republic, Theodosia is rooting exclusively for Theodosia. If you visit her, which would be your best decision of the day, she can explain how she is running many campaigns successfully.

Nobody realized we had to chose a single All-Supreme Snub-Tailed Titan, but apparently that is the case. Theodosia aims to steamroll Murdock, Rori, and any other tail-abridged individuals in a landslide. Theodosia does not care that her opponents are unaware that they are opposed. Theodosia is also running for Emperor on the Extremely Elderly ticket. She can explain, using exclusively punk rock lyrics, why what is good for ancient cats is good for everyone.

The timid constituency of Suite A may not seem suited to public service. But do not underestimate the cats who survived a large and sickly colony, only to come to a so-called sanctuary where the streets are not, in fact, paved in provolone. (They were also promised waterfalls of liquid liverwurst. They are pursuing litigation. They will be represented by the law offices of Baby, Taylor Ham, and Leo. Gator has filed an amicus brief.)

Our shy silver senate proposes Patience For All Persons. This act, if passed, would entitle all persons (defined as “living beings, all the way down to plankton and possibly even cool rocks”) to a lifetime supply of slow blinks and safety, whether or not such persons ever progress to sitting in laps.

Over in our Community Room, we have a bit of a political problem.

Patches, having been alive since the Martin van Buren administration, is an astute student of history. She understands the phenomenon of “swing states,” which are those regions of the Community Room where Gulliver, Tux, and their affiliates snuggle into such a powerful pile, you cannot tell where one cat begins and the other begins.

Patches, unlike most of us, has a firm grasp of the “Electoral College,” which is the on-site university where Apricot and Nirvana are learning to be brave, and Eartha is pursuing a doctorate in astrology.

Most importantly, Patches understands the process of securing your party’s nomination. Ergo, Patches is in the process of nominating qualified candidates for President of Planet Patches. Patches has never met an unqualified candidate. Congratulations, reader: you just became President.

But in the end, only one cat can sit in the Oval Donut Bed.

Will it be Alessia, or will it be Arnold?

Will you vote for Pepita, or is Chicken Nugget your commander-in-chief?

Will Bello ring your number, or has Hoopla Green got the gravitas to cut through the hullaballoo?

Or … is our decision easier than it seems?

There is not just one Oval Donut Bed.

There are as many leaders as there are lovers.

And whatever happens today, tonight, and in the days to come, good people (using Patches’ definition) will keep finding ways to take care of one another.

Maybe we’ll even bring treats back to the Lobby.

Huge thanks to staff superstar Tiff and volunteer photographer Rob for bravely securing these campaign photos. If you are wondering why Theodosia and Olive are not pictured in presidential attire, that is because we voted against the possibility of Tiff and Rob being eaten alive.

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