Every month, in what I assume to be a muted tribute to Thomas Paine and his written call for a unified political identity, we open our front door to find a neighborhood newsletter sitting on our porch. The gardening tips and realtor ads and columns praising Mr. and Mrs. Hoffenpeffershire for boasting the most well-kept yard seem to me little more than political propaganda, urging us, the American Suburban Caucus, or ASC, to show our commitment to perfect lawns and daily dog-walking adventures, during which the most loyal party members can be seen, leash in hand, toting little baggies tied to their belts so as not to give a false impression of inconsideration.
Unfortunately for us, we don’t own a dog. And our Undesirables, or as we call them: our cats, seem only to reiterate my suspicion that we continuously fall short of the ASC agenda. Our lawn is as shapely as Mary Poppins is perfect, thanks to the weekly efforts of JGLC, an awkward acronym for Jose Garcia Lawn Care, but still the other inhabitants of our court rarely give us more than a perfunctory nod in our general direction when they’re unable to hide their SUVs in their over-organized garages before we make eye contact. I’m certain our low approval rating stems from our refusal to select the party’s pet of choice.
I would make the case that our neighbor across the street might be the quintessential party leader, dedicated as he is to lawn care and Christmas displays alike, and on one more than one occasion, I’ve observed him screaming and running at whichever cat has dared to investigate his hedges, his arms flailing in impotence (because of his inability to keep the cats out of his yard, not because of, well...impotence. Although the other type is entirely possible, so stressed is he by his desire to conform). His feline hatred, and the fact that our neighbors to the left have made several half-joking remarks about air-soft guns and target practice have led me to believe that it was no accident when one of our cats recently disappeared. We put up posters, contacted the SPCA (the suburbs are full of acronyms, aren’t they), and walked the neighborhood calling the cat’s name daily, to no avail. In a testament to both our efforts and our political standing amongst our immediate neighbors, many of our posters are still visible, torn and faded, on the lampposts of adjacent streets, while those we posted on our court disappeared overnight.
I wish I could say our efforts paid off and our little guy came home. I choose to believe he was so handsome some family out there just couldn’t resist taking him in, and I imagine him posing, emperor-like, on a chaise lounge while his new owners feed him grapes. Or in this case, I guess bits of tuna makes more sense. The point is that I believe there are nice families hiding somewhere in this suburban sea of false smiles and plastic siding. We’re here, after all. And, although I didn’t intend for this post to get quite so sappy, so are our cats, and I think they’re pretty nice.
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