There’s a new story out today about a cat who can predict when someone is about to die. Oscar, who lives in a hospital in Rhode Island, senses patients’ oncoming demise, and shortly after curling up next to them, they die.
And that brings my to my next point, which is, somebody get that harbinger of death out of my campaign office. I don’t know if he read the news about my media team jumping ship or what, but he’s creeping me out. How did he get here from Rhode Island anyway?
I’m looking at him right now. He’s sitting on a chair across my desk just staring at me. Look here, Death Cat, my campaign is doing just fine. It’s certainly not imploding like some people suggest. Implosion involves the concentration of matter and energy — if anything, my campaign is scattering matter each passing day with every defection from my staff and becoming less energized by the minute. So we’re certainly not imploding.
And you, Oscar the Death Cat, need to leave.
Oh, shit, he’s on my lap.
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