My daughter’s cat is a closet nazi

I’m worried about my daughter’s cat.

Here in Germany the Green Party is running a set of posters alerting people to the risk of a new rise in neo-nazism. The posters look like this.

Well of course I thought nothing of it when I saw the posters, other than admiring a nice bit of photo-shop manipulation. I thought the image was meant to be allegorical. And anyway, nobody living around our neighbourhood looks remotely like a neo-nazi. In fact most of them don’t look like a neo anything.

But then I arrived home and spotted my daughter’s white cat out patrolling the garden. I couldn’t have been more shocked if I’d been struck on the head by a falling paint bucket!

Here’s the chilling sight that greeted me!

It was all there! The hair, the moustache. The way he was walking along the fence with a clear plan to invade and annex next door’s garden. The tendency to bully small rodents in the garden. The small furry or feathery corpses on the doormat in the mornings.

There could no longer be any doubt. My worst nightmare was realised.
By day, he’s undercover as a lazy fluffy feline who spends 12 hours at a stretch sprawled on top of the radiator next to my desk. By night he’s engaged as a right wing activist in an illegal feline organisation. He’s a turncoat, a traitor, a lickspittle and a cad.

My daughter’s cat is a nazi!

I’ll never live this down!