We had a disagreement about the byline. He insists that, though he does no writing, he is an important and necessary worker, and it would be appropriate to acknowledge him. He’s also demanding $15/hour. His name is Chi Chi but he prefers Cheech, like in Cheech n’ Chong. Often he complains that his name is emasculating. To us, he’s Little Man most of the time.
Cheech previously lived with an elderly couple. We brought him to live here with us six years ago when they had to move to an assisted living home. He was 11 then, and since we knew older pets were often difficult to place, we decided to do the right thing, and open our doors to him. Plus, we had quickly grown attached to him. Now he’s 17 and he firmly believes he’s running the house. He’s a little guy and we think it’s a Napoleon complex. Nobody here minds, we just let him think he’s the man. He’s appointed himself Sheriff of this here town.
Now this is a pretty conservative home, but Cheech is a liberal, a Democrat; Bernie Sanders is his guy. He doesn’t like Hillary. “She’s so shrill,” he says. Cheech suspects she isn’t telling the whole truth and, therefore, isn’t trustworthy. Martin O’Malley lost him completely when he apologized for saying, “All lives matter.” He called him the P-word…you know, p___ycat. Yeah, he was that fired up.
Cheech has been trying to stir up his three sisters, but to no avail. They usually just yawn. He loves to argue, but just doesn’t have facts to back up his statements, which means he often ends up calling us names and running off. Everybody here knows he’s all bark and no bite.
About that $15/hour: he’s already getting room and board, so I said, “no way!” He pleads his case saying, “You’re not paying your fair share! I work hard every day. I stay with you, follow you around, keep you company. I let you know when someone’s at the door or outside. I clean up when you drop stuff. I keep an eye on my younger sisters and always tell you when they’re doing something bad. I always clean my plate, and I’m not a picky eater. I make sure you get outside for some fresh air and exercise a few times every day.”
“Those are things you’re supposed to do”, I reply, “and they just don’t justify higher pay.” I have told him many times, if he thinks he can do better than me, he shouldn’t let the door hit him in the tail on the way out! At the end of the day, he knows he has great meals, we love him bunches, and there are a ton of toys, though he’s much too mature to play. He’s pretty lazy when you get down to it. A bit of an attention whore really.
Cheech carries his Bernie bumper sticker in the car, pressing it against the window as I drive, and making a mockery of my Ted Cruz bumper sticker. I strongly suspect he’s allured by the free stuff Bernie’s offering, just like most Democrats.
I have tried to explain to him that nothing is free. Somebody’s got to pay for everything. Since the government doesn’t earn money, its funds are from the money we pay in taxes. Cheech, like many Democrats, doesn’t pay any taxes. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t understand that there’s never enough money to pay everything; at least not with the long list that people believe the government should cover. That’s why our national debt is crushing us. This government can’t say no to anyone, except the military and Republicans. Cheech says it wouldn’t be a problem if the wealthy would just pay more. It’s time to give up; you can’t battle wits with the unarmed.
Now I rarely back down from a political discussion, but whenever I start with a liberal, there is a strong probability that we won’t get past the surface of the issue. They tend to see things through an emotional, rose-colored filter. Logic, facts, common sense, follow the money…whoosh! Over the head and out the window, just like that.
Even though Cheech is a staunch Democrat, he’s always attentive, he means well, and he doesn’t call me a racist — I assume he knows which side of his bread is buttered. I know he’s not terribly bright, but he tries so hard to please…that’s why I love my little simple-minded liberal.