THE DRUBBING OF THE DRONE MASTER
It was a fine October day, and President Obama was in great form, because not only was it a clear and lovely autumn day with the sun radiantly bathing Washington in its happy glow, but it was a Tuesday. Now it is on Tuesdays that the President directs his drones to kill whoever he wants to exterminate, wherever they are, and whoever they might be; that they are in foreign lands does not bother the President at all, because he is the Police chief of the World, and America knows best. American leaders stand tall, whatever that is meant to mean
The President was sitting in the oval office discussing with his aides who he should exterminate on this bright and sunny morning, when suddenly the whole room began to shake. “It looks like we’re having an earthquake” someone shouted. “All of you get under the table!” shouted the President, clearly shaken. Just after this everyone in the room was aware of a brilliant blue light. They then slowly emerged from under the table, and were aghast at the sight. For out of the blue light came eight huge domestic cats, an enormous grey hound, the size of a race horse, a raven that was the size of an eagle, an equally large wolf, and a mouse, the size of a large cat, to say nothing of the size of the bear. The Presidential staff were dumbfounded. “Call security!” barked the President. There was no response. All his staff were unable to move mouth or limb, only the President was left with his faculties. “What do you mean by this breaking and entering into the White House?” asked the President. “We haven’t broken anything “ said Hans. “No, we’ve only grown, and we don’t know how” said Lily, who from being a little puss was now an enormous one.
“Now Mr. President” said Lizzie looking down from on high at him, a truly awful experience for the poor man. “I think you should try and get yourself and your government to come to your senses. Only recently you nearly took the world to the brink of war over Syria, and goodness knows what you and the EU are up to in the Ukraine. You are building, they tell me, concentration camps all over your country. No doubt Christians will be the first beneficiaries of this awful kind of Totalitarian hospitality. You have armed the Department of Homeland security with enough armaments to keep a war similar to the recent Iraq War going for 24 years, while 50 million of your people are on the bread line. Why does the Homeland security require so much weaponry? Could it be that you wish to use these weapons against your own people. At the same time you are disarming your people in contravention of the American Constitution, and no-one really seems to know whether you were born in Kenya or Hawaii, and might I remind you that you could not be born in Kenya, in the year when you were born (That is one fact about you that we know to be absolutely true), because then it was part of the British Colonies, which makes you, rather surprisingly, British. Also if you were born in Hawaii, you will recall it was not the Americans that discovered it, but Captain Cook, an Englishman. And did you go to Columbia University, for no one seems to remember you being there, but you were sighted at Patrice Lumumba University in Moscow. You say you are a Christian, but you want Africa, of all places, to embrace homosexuality. Not only are you a contradiction, you are the personification of illogicality, a kind of moral idiot.”
By this time the poor man’s jaw had dropped so low, that he was resembling a slobbering Bassett hound, which is indeed amazing. All the other cats purred their approval at Lizzie’s headmistress style of dressing down, the raven, Mehtuselah now very large indeed croaked “Hurrah, hurrah!”, Hans clapped his hands, Beppe squeaked his approval, Lorenzo snarled, not too alarmingly, and Grigio let out an enormous howl. Suddenly all the President’s advisers came out of their paralysis, and their eyes were like saucers. The bright blue light faded, the animals returned to their normal size, and there among them had appeared St. Colette, tall and radiant, and charming as only a French woman can be. “So my dears” she said to the cats, “are you happier now that you are back to your normal size?” “Oh yes!” they cried. It was of course neither here nor there to the celestial animals, but they were, so to speak, only the support team for the cats, who were the ones who had to act. The celestial cats were, in fact, rather like guardian angels. The President, somewhat recovered, pulled himself up to his true height, and bellowed, “Who do you think you are?”. “Well” replied Colette, “I would have thought that Lizzie’s address to you was exactly the same, “Who do you think you are? Who are you? For surely if we are to truly grow in the ways of the Lord, we must know where we come from, where wish to go, and what we wish our final end to be? You rulers will never learn. You become drunk with power, you lose all lightness of touch, true heavenly humour departs, and what you are left with, is your own insignificance. What you think is important, in God’s eyes is not important at all. You have brought no good news to the poor, and you have not released people from prison or the yoke of slavery. Like all rulers of Empires, you rule with might and spite. You are playground bullies, but your forget that the Headmaster is the all seeing Triune God, not some absent minded kindly old gentleman, who sees no evil, does no evil, and has no common sense. You have contempt for other races, and yet speak glowingly of equality, and for you own people there is little love. You voice bland platitudes and convince the so called educated classes that you are wise. You talk of peace, and send your troops to war, but you would never lead your people in battle would you?”
At this point the President was looking like a very sulky teenager. He looked at the saint fiercely. “Now Madam I give you and your crew of ally cats (At this all the cats tails went very bushy and they all hissed, and said “fancy that”, and “You’d expect presidents to have better manners” and “What rudeness!” and various similar outcries.) ten seconds to leave, or I will have you arrested.” “Firstly” said Colette “I am not married”, secondly I am an Abbess, and thirdly I prefer to be called ‘Sister’ and not ‘Mother.’ Finally as I live in eternity ten seconds means nothing to me. Suddenly there was a crashing sound, and the president’s men were down on the ground again. The President now looked terrified, for peering through the shattered window, was the head of a very benign looking Brontosaurus. In a very meek and surprisingly small voice he asked “I wonder is there anything for lunch, as I’m feeling rather hungry, and I don’t know where I am, and it’s all rather upsetting. With that the poor creature burst into tears” Dolly immediately rushed over to the dinosaur and offered him her handkerchief, which the animal took and dried his nose and said “how very kind of you”.
“Ah” said Colette “I should have known that this might happen.” “What might happen?” asked Bushy. “You can sit down Mr. President, and so can your associates, and I will explain” The President, poor man, was having one of the worst days of his life. For a man who wanted to always be in control, though this was pure illusion, he was now only too aware that the forces against him were to use that much over-used word ‘awesome’. "Are we sitting comfortably? I will now begin." said the saint.
“When humans begin to err,
Then Heaven begins to work,
And Eden begins to stir.
For Paradise lost is slightly wrong,
She only disappeared,
And the cats began their song.
The song was bright as star,
And ancient creatures awoke,
And have come from very far.
The creature here is not from a zoo,
But from Paradise awaked,
And this is indeed quite true.”
Before the President and his men could take in this very simple and slight verse, Colette had produced a lovely selection of vegetables in a huge basket, which she placed in front of a now delighted Brontosaurus, who greedily began to devour its contents, and looked as if he might eat the basket as well. The presidential retinue, and indeed the President were aghast at was happening, but they were now in for another surprise.
Sammy and Freddie jumped onto the table, and beaming at the President, Freddie began to speak. “The Problem is Mr. President, your style which is very winning, suave, and reasonable, almost to the point of insipidity, is just a ploy. You are not like that, and I don’t wish to reveal that unknown side of you, but if you could take your Christian Faith seriously then things might go very well for you. So come on my brothers and sisters we will sing for the President.” “What shall we sing?” asked Tommy. “We will sing Bunthorne and Jane’s duet from Act II of Patience, with the boys doing Bunthorne, and the girls doing Jane.”
Suddenly the table was full of cats and so they began their duet.
Jane So go to him and say to him
With compliment ironical....
Bunthorne “Sing Hey to you, good-day to you..”
And that’s what I shall say!
Jane “Your style is much too sanctified......
Your cut is too canonical...”
Bunthorne Sing “Bah to you...ha! ha! To you...”
And that’s what I shall say.
Jane “I was the beau ideal of the morbid young aesthetical...
To doubt my inspiration was heretical...
Until you cut me out with your placidity emetical.”....
Bunthorne Sing “Booh to you...pooh, pooh to you...”
And that’s what I shall say!
Both Sing “Hey to you ---- good day to you”---
Sing “Bah to you ---- ha! ha! to you” ---
Sing “Booh to you ---- pooh, pooh to you” ---
And that’s what (you/I) shall say!
Bunthorne I’ll Tell him that unless he will consent to be more jocular....
Jane Sing “Booh to you---pooh, pooh to you...”
And that’s what you should say!
Bunthorne To Cut his curly hair, and stick an eyeglass in his ocular...
Jane Sing “Bah to you....Ha! Ha! to you....”
And that’s what you should say!
Bunthorne To stuff his conversation full of quibble and quiddity,
To dine on chops and roly-poly pudding with avidity...
He’d better clear away with all convenient rapidity.
Jane Sing “Hey to you...good-day to you...”
And that’s what you should say!
Both Sing “Booh to you----pooh, pooh to you”---
Sing “Bah to you---- ha! ha! to you”---
Sing “Hey to you---- good day to you” ----
And that’s what (I/you) shall say!
The performance was sensational. The Cats had danced on their hind legs with all the abandon of Scottish highland dancers, though it must be added that Bushy and Tommy being rather older cats were not quite as nimble and kept bumping into the other cats quite a lot of the time. However it was done with an exhilarating gusto, and so exhausted were the cats that they all collapsed on their backs, with their paws in the air, laughing until the tears rolled down their furry cheeks.
The humourless expression of the President and his equally gloomy colleagues, showed that they no more understood the great truths of life, than they did the wonderfully ludicrous song of Gilbert and Sullivan. There is a type of seriousness that borders on despair, it neither can sing, nor can it dance, it simply broods. And as the Brontosaurus happily munched away at his dinner, and as the cats jumped off the table and joined St. Colette, the politicians and the President looked, not at a charming scene of a nun and cats, and the other animals, but at their own ambitions, fears, and jealousies. Sitting staring into space, they were unaware that all the animals, both living and celestial had disappeared, and all that remained was a Poor Clare, and a large empty basket next to a smashed window.
Addressing them St. Colette said “You will never learn the all important truth, that you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven unless you become like little children. There is still time for you to change, but there is not much time, and so I will leave you with some worldly wisdom, as the heavenly is obviously not making much headway here today. It comes from the pen of the great Roman historian Tacitus, whose father-in-law, Julius Agricola, conquered much of Britain for Rome. He describes what the conquering Romans did, and I suspect they are not much different from yourselves;
“Looting, killing and raping --- by twisting their words they call it ‘empire’; and wherever they have created wilderness, they call it ‘peace’)
Gentleman, the same could be said of yourselves, all you need to do is substitute ‘democracy’ for empire. I bid you good day, and I pray for peace. With a flash of violet light the nun disappeared.
“Now who shall we take out today?” asked the President.