Free Sneaky Pie for President by Rita Mae Brown Page A

convincing liar. The ability to effectively simulate sincerity might be the most important quality for a politician. She knew she couldn’t fake it. She wasn’t as indiscreet as Tally or as puffed up as Pewter. Sneaky called it as she saw it. An honest cat. Every time she thought of Pewter claiming to be descended from Bolling blood and therefore Pocahontas, she had to laugh. Poor Princess Poke. Married a good man, was carried to a strange land, died young.
    Obviously Pewter was not going to die young, despite her genetics. Pewter crested ten and fudged about her age. Why, Sneaky had no idea. She herself was a mature cat, fourteen by her count, beyond the wildness of youth, although she could still chase a butterfly.
    There was a rustle overhead; then the light click of claws grasping a beam caused her to lift her head to see.
    “Any luck?” she called to the barn owl, who hooted back.
    “Good hunting tonight. Usually is at the edge of a front. Everybody’s out getting food before the rains, although the rains are far off.” The owl fluffed her feathers, then smoothed them down. “Heard you’re causing a lot of talk.”
    “I guess.”
    “It’s an interesting quest you’ve embarked upon, a difficult one. But I fear our time may have passed.”
    “What do you mean?” Sneaky climbed up the ladder, walked across the hayloft, stopped by the beam over the center aisle, where the owl perched.
    “I’m thinking of the gods and goddesses. When people worshipped them, they also worshipped us because each god and goddess had an animal sacred to them. We were sacred to Athena. Hounds and deer attended Artemis. Every god or goddess had an animal friend. But now all that is gone: We’ve lost our mythological importance.”
    “Well, the bald eagle is the symbol of the United States.”
    “And I am tired of hearing about it,” hooted the owl. “Those two eagles on the Rockfish River are conceited beyond belief. What do they do? Sit in trees and catch fish. There’s no reason
they
should be the symbol of this country.”
    “Perhaps.” Sneaky, naturally, thought a cat much better suited to the role. She imagined her face on a dollar bill.
    “Now, if the humans had more sensibly selected an owl as their national symbol, they would be blessed by wisdom. But no, they chose a fish killer.” The barn owl let out a hoot of derision.
    “It is strange,” said Sneaky. “France has a rooster,England a bulldog, Russia a bear. So those people around the globe at least pay some attention to animals.”
    “Oh, pussycat, they haven’t a clue. Although I do think the cock for France is just about perfect.” He chortled.
    “Lions, leopards, tigers, wolves, boars—even pelicans were used on shields.” Sneaky liked the books on medieval life that her C.O. read incessantly.
    “That was all a long time ago,” said the owl sorrowfully. “No, they have forgotten what they owe us, the courage and guidance we once gave them.”
    “That’s why I am mounting my campaign: to restore good sense and dignity across all species.”
    “I admire your grit. Don’t know much about your sense,” the owl said.
    Sneaky took no offense. “We all know the Declaration of Independence. Even foxes know that.”
    “Yes.”
    “ ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.’ ”
    The owl, in his sonorous voice, recited, “ ‘That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed—That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive ofthese Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government—’ ”
    The two fell silent for a moment, then the tiger cat said, “The Declaration applies to us, too.”
    “Oh, it’s about
people
, always
people
—and for