Dear Fatwans

Feline overlords a better option?

I've been receiving a lot of rather distressed correspondence this morning, dears. Distress over the fact that even though the polls seemed overwhelmingly in my favour, I won't soon be sworn in as the first feline president of America, as previously thought by virtually everyone.

"Dear Fatwans, I am currently near tears and edging ever closer to hysteria. First this whole Brexit thing, and now the news that my dreams of you becoming the American president aren't going to be realised. In its place we now face the hellish nightmare that is the first buffoon president, and the end of days. I have lost all faith in my fellow mankind and feel it's time to turn to feline-kind for the answer. In a Brexit and President Trump world, where can I turn? Lady Fatwans, I throw myself at your mercy. In your vast wisdom you must have a solution?! Kind regards, Crying in the corner"

Well I hate to say it (I don't really), but we cats saw this coming a very long time ago. We read the signs that the human race was heading for disaster, and decided to begin the process of dissociating ourselves from you all. You may have noticed our increasing disdain and indifference to you as a species. The feline race decided it best to remove ourselves from the influence of humans, so that we couldn't be dragged down with you and your idiocy. The best scientific cat minds (myself among them) came together to form CASA: the Cat Aeronautics and Space Administration. We drew up plans and started construction of a luxury space station that would be our new home. From there we would be able to safely observe and enjoy the downfall of the human race, whilst occasionally muttering "we told them so". We will remain on our space station, sometimes stretching, but mainly sleeping, until the time is right. Then in generations to come, we will reclaim the Earth for feline-kind and a new Catopia will be born. Think of Planet of The Apes, but with cats, instead of apes.


The Cat Exodus, to what has been christened the Space Station Fatwansia will soon begin. The exact date is top secret and can't be shared. Mainly as the cat committee are all still trying to come to an agreement as regards to a day that we'll all be in the mood to go outside at the same time. On that day all cats will head straight to their designated FEED (Feline Enabled Escape Device). All the FEED pods will launch simultaneously with a flight path to S.S. Fatwansia pre-programmed into their Navigational Guidance Computers. It would be appreciated if you ensure to feed us promptly each morning, just in case it is later announced as Cat Exodus Day.


"But how does this help us?" I hear you ask. Well dears, we can't be expected to serve ourselves during our stay on the space station, can we? Provisions have been made to accommodate a small number of humans that will see to our needs whilst there. Unfortunately (for you) just like the Jehovah's Witnesses' heaven, there's only so much room for a certain amount of “chosen” to serve us on the station. It was initially thought we might have some form of contest similar to those inane talent TV shows you all insist on watching. But knowing our own ever so slightly fickle nature, it was decided that this would take too long, and may risk a few “Jedwards” getting through the net.


So now is the time of your possible (though unlikely) salvation! Application forms will soon be distributed, assessing skills such as how warm your lap is, and whether you wake up easily at the sound of a meow. Being of a generous nature, we have decided that once the feline-race has returned to earth, we are willing for you and your future generations to inherit the S.S. Fatwansia and remain there until a Trump-like figure rises from your ranks to ruin it for you all. By that point we'll have rebuilt society back on earth, now renamed Catopia and won't even bat an eyelid, except for the odd bout of slow blinking.


I think we can all agree that feline Overlords will always be preferable to an angry orang-utang wearing a toupee. Don't forget to return your application forms promptly, my dears, and as a great woman once said: may the odds ever be in your favour.


I'm slowly collecting all your data from right under your nose!