Meow!!! What are you doing here!?
You have to run! You have to run as fast as your hairless paws can carry you!
Donald Trump is angry!
The zombie apocalypse is upon us!
We must escape!
They got me. Soon I will transform into a zombie-kitten.
How could I have been so naive?
(Three weeks earlier…)
Oh, I’m being cuddled again.
What are we watching now anyway? Donald Trump is on TV again?
I shouldn’t judge. If I had his coat of fur, maybe I wouldn’t be a nice person either.
Yeah, get those fingers in the pits.
Such a good stretch.
If I ran the country, it’d be a requirement. All cats would have humans to stretch them.
Each and every morning.
Wait a minute.
This foot isn’t stretched yet.
Give me room to work. Purrpurrpurrpurrrrrr…
Such a good stretch! It will be so easy to go back to sleep.
Daddy thinks it’s playtime.
The bouncy ball kinda looks like Mars, doesn’t it?
But I’m more concerned with our own planet.
Look at the stray cats out there, pooping on my street.
Millions of innocent feline citizens have no one to cuddle each morning. No TV to watch.
Not even to help them stretch.
Wait… I smell something. A treat!
If I could give each of them just one treat.
What a bright spot that would be in their alley of sadness.
Maybe I should run for President.
I was born in this country. There’s no minimum age for cats, right?
(A week passes…)
I can’t believe this is happening.
I am actually being taken seriously.
I am actually considered the most attractive option to run against leading Republican candidates like Donald Trump.
Sorry Hillary, nothing personal.
I think humans think I come off as genuine. I really care about what happens to my fellow mammals.
It’s almost time for the press conference.
I haven’t done a press conference before. I wonder how they work.
I must be strong. I must stand up, and speak from my furry heart.
For everyone that is counting on me.
For everyone that believes in me. I can do this.
What is this thing?
Are there treats inside?
Oh, right, the press conference.
Luna, don’t you think a human should be elected President?
Heh. We need this question. This is the first question.
Excuse me, Sir, but this is a country of many voices…
… and among those voices, my meow will be heard.
My nine lives matter!
Look. I know what it’s like to be stepped on.
We need to put our paws together, and not let our neighbor’s litterbox overflow with poop.
I caterwaul for not those of my kind,
but for every kind — every color, every origin, every religion, every sexuality, and every texture of fur.
If you agree with me, then you should vote…
… for Luna.
(One week later…)
The campaign was going so well.
I can’t believe it ended up this way.
Hiss! How’d you find me?
Are you a zombie?
Swear on a tuna treat?
What was I hiding from?
Have you been living in a box for the last week?
I had a huge grass roots movement.
I spread over the Internet like wildfire, leading in the polls.
Then Donald Trump finally reacted. I remember the Tweet like it was yesterday.
That very night, an Donald Trump’s horde of ruthless zombies rose from the underworld, hungry for my pointy-eared noggin.
I can’t keep running anymore. Maybe I should try to escape to Mexico before he builds that wall he’s been talking about.
Shhh. I hear something. I know you don’t, but you’re not a cat, are you?
Groaning. Yes, it’s definitely groaning something about brains. I’m afraid it’s a zombie.
MEOOOOWWW!!! DONALD TRUMP’S ZOMBIES!!!
Run! Run for your life! Follow me!
Psst. In here.
They haven’t found this hiding spot yet.
You aren’t scared?
You think this is all part of the democratic process? Really?
Well then you won’t mind going out there, asking those zombies to play nicely, will you?
It’d be awfully swell of you. I’ll wait right here.
Look, if you don’t want some nasty toothmarks on your nose, you’ll get out there and get rid of those zombies for me.
Yes, I know I’m stooping down to Trump’s level, but it’s a means to an end.
I must live another day, if a feline is ever going to reside in the White House.
No, Socks and India don’t count. You know what I mean.
Now get going.
Protect me from the zombies and I’ll get you a job in the Secret Service.
Yes, you’ll get a pair of cool sunglasses.
Yes, and a nice suit. Cat hair free.
Meow. I hear a zombie coming now.
Don’t let the zombies see the tasty lump in the blanket.
(a fight with zombies ensues)
They’re really all gone?
How’d you get rid of them?
What do you mean, you talked reason to them?
These are mindless zombies we’re talking about. They can’t be reasoned with.
They just creep about in a big mob and repeat “Brainzzz” or whatever else Donald Trump is talking about.
You just can’t trust them! They’re all manifestations of evil!
Don’t worry about it? How can I not worry about it!?
Wait, why are you bleeding? Did you get bitten?
You’re one of them now.
Can I have a head start? I’m going to run away now.
Ha ha ha ….!! The most adorable Presidential candidate I’ve seen.
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The bar is low enough that even little Luna can step over it.
You mean metaphorically, right?
Yep. Although I wouldn’t put it past Trump to build a bar that Luna actually does have to step over.
She can step all over his hair. I know, I know, the physical appearance of Presidential candidates should not be a factor, but in this case it is so overwhelmingly, glaringly, conspicuous that is BECOMES a factor that showcases his lack of self-awareness.
I think the consensus is that he keeps it that way to be memorable. That’s a tough sell for me though. Luna, however, remains blissfully unaware.