I am a cat whisperer. It is a skill I picked up at nineteen, when I was stationed in an sentry post upon the green line, in Nicosia, Cyprus. The sentry post was shared with a silversmith, a small, strange man with eastern roots who melted and coated silver for jewelry, and mantelpiece decorations, and generally crosses, as Christian symbols, to be worn about the neck, by all the Cypriot faithfuls. With him he had cats, and they were on a rota, visiting him for comfort, petting, food. I watched how he called for the cats, with a slight whistle, a sound which cats can hear even out of ear shot. I have tested this whistle on cats I see outside of homes in England where I now live, and half of the cats come out to me to rub up against my shin. It is an ability which empowers and humbles me in the same exact moment. Of course, cats are magical animals, so the power of my imagination is also often ignited with the approach of a cat. I therefore can quite naturally imagine myself having an army of cats, both domesticated and wild, with which to fight evil, and overthrow Donald Trump, in a future world, where cats and birds collaborate, making it seem so easy.