Why My Cat Should Be The Next Pope
My Cat is Already Infallible: My cat has never made a mistake. Seriously, not once.
Now that Pope Benedict XVI has officially retired from the Vatican, speculation has begun on who will be his successor. Will the Catholic Church stick with tradition and select an Italian, shock the world and name the first black pope, or be lame and elect an American? All interesting choices. However, I have a better one: my cat, Cheese. These are my reasons.
Isn’t it Time the Animals Had a Pope Too? God created all living creatures, not just man and woman, so why have we humans been hogging the popey goodness all this time? Hardly seems fair. I mean, it’s right there in Genesis 1:21.
And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good.
See! Whales and every living creature that moveth! Isn’t it time there was a religious leader for all the others that moveth? Cheese the Cat could rule on all important theological matters for animals, such as, is it unholy for a horse and donkey to lie together? Does the sin of gluttony apply to pigs and dogs who have just discovered an unguarded jar of peanut butter? Also is it the devil that made sharks such jerks? Human popes have shown they’re only concerned with human issues, Cheese can do more. Yes she can!
She Loves A Flashy Hat: I think when most of us think “Pope” we think one thing and one thing only: funny hats. And the good news is, Cheese loves a wacky headdress. OK, she doesn’t love them as much as tolerates me forcing them upon her, usually when she’s asleep, but we’ll take what we can get.
My Cat Was Never a Nazi: While Pope Benedict was dogged (Pun intended. BOOM!) by concerns about his past in the Hitler Youth, my cat has shown no prejudice towards the jewish people whatsoever. Or gypsies and homosexuals, for that matter. The truth is, she’s terrified of anyone who enters my apartment, so I don’t think race or religion has anything to do with it. Although, I guess that does mean that if Friday night services broke out in my living room, she’d probably go hide under the bed, which isn’t exactly a sign of tolerance. And now that I think about it, she has shown a particular terror of the gay gentleman who comes in to fix my leaky roof. Hmmm. I used to think it was because of the loud music he plays, but perhaps it’s a homophobia thing. OH MY GOD, maybe my cat is a NAZI?! Let’s just move on…
She Will Not Move Pedophile Priests to New Districts: The only thing my cat can organize is her little box. Poops in the back, peeps in the front. With shocking precision, as a matter of fact. However, if a criminal priest needed to be transferred discreetly to a different parish, as the Catholic Church is fond of doing, that would be totally beyond Cheese’s skill level. Best case scenario, she could move him out of her food bowl and into her water. And even then, there’d be trails of him all across the kitchen floor.
My Cat is Already Infallible: My cat has never made a mistake. Seriously, not once. Even when she pukes on the couch, she’s able to pull off a “I don’t know how that got there. It certainly wasn’t me!” look that would make even the boldest pope blush.
Cheese is a Progressive, and Pro Birth Control: I mean, she doesn’t even have a uterus. How more pro birth control can you get?
My Cat is Very Old: Is it part of papal law that the guy has to be ridiculously elderly, or is that just part of the tradition? Either way, my cat totally fits the bill. She’s 13 in Cat Years, which in Human Years is 68, or in Pope Years translates to Just Right.
My Cat Would Never Quit: Benedict hitting the road has shocked the world, and led to a lot of suspicious mumbling behind closed doors. But that would never happen with Cheese. She is determined to complete every task she sets her sights on, especially taking naps. But I promise, if we make my cat the pope, she will never be distracted from her work, unless you scratch her behind her ears, or open a can of tuna fish three rooms away, or if the scary gay roofman comes to visit. Other than, she’d be all pope, all the time. 
