Behind the scenes at The White House. At home with The President of The United States.
Visit The President at home here.
Contents.
Nighttime at The White House.
President Barack Obama goes for a walk.
President Barack Obama and President Abraham Lincoln.
Night time at The White House.
It is past midnight in The White House. In the corridors that Abraham Lincoln once walked the secret servicemen dozed. In the twenty four hour security room the Head of Presidential Security surveyed the bank of cameras that covered one whole wall of the room at the top of the presidential mansion. Every room was covered by at least two cameras. The only part of the huge house that was not intruded in was the interior of the First Family’s private apartment. There was CCTV focused on the door. But it was considered that the privacy of Barack Obama, his fragrant wife Michelle and their two delightful children was more important than considerations of security so the cameras stayed outside the door. This was a night like all the rest. Quiet and peaceful. You might think that The White House is a hive of activity all round the clock. You probably imagine that The President and his top aides are busy all the time, making phone calls and holding meetings, to keep on top of various pressing issues, like the war in Afghanistan, the state of the American economy, peace in the middle east etc. But you would be wrong. Even really important matters, like how to get “the main man” another four years in the big house in Pennsylvania Avenue, have to be forgotten about for a good eight hours every night. Barack Obama, just like the rest of us, has to sleep. Even the snoring of his fragrant wife Michelle, that woke The Queen of England in her own palace
doesn’t usually disturb the chief executive slumbers. Put simply, the home of the American President is just like any other house in the land. At night time the residents go to sleep, except for the secret servicemen, who doze, and the Head of Presidential Security who sits in his big room at the top of the house and monitors his cameras.
President Barack Obama goes for a walk.
This night was to be different. The Head of Presidential Security growled to himself when he saw the various secret servicemen settling down in their corner to sleep. “They should all be sacked” he thought. Of course they could not really be blamed for wanting to take a nap. The security was so good on the outside of the house that there was a zero possibility of anyone ever penetrating to the inside of the mansion, so a posting to the interior usually meant a passport to a night sleeping in the corner. Nice work, if you can get it. He surveyed the bank of cameras. His eye was drawn to the screen that showed the door to The Presidential Quarters. Something was not quite right. The handle of the door was turning. This was very unusual. None of the Obama family ever emerged from their apartment once they had retired. But this time one of them was doing so.
The door opened and the easily recognised face of The President of The United States looked out. He appeared to sniff the air in the corridor. There was a most enormous grin pasted all over the visage of the chief executive of the most powerful state on Earth. The head of security almost fell over when he saw what happened next. Barack Obama emerged completely from the doorway. He was naked apart from a pair of “Old Glory” boxers. He was walking on all fours. There was an enormous striped furry tail snaking its way out of a hole that was strategically placed in the back of the executive underpants. If you want an explanation for this strange sight, that almost made the watching security expert choke on his coffee, read
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It tells how Barack Obama came to be one quarter cat. It settles all the debate about his ancestry.
The Head of Presidential Security could hardly credit what his eyes were telling him. The President of The United States was behaving like a gigantic cat. The tail made him look like one too. What was he to do? He had taken delivery of out- size cigars for Bill Clinton. The batteries, that were used to give life to the robot that was George W Bush, even passed through his hands. But this was different. He could scarcely be expected to confront his boss and tell him to tuck his tail in. It was more than his job was worth. The best thing to do was to just sit where he was and watch the presidential progress on the cameras. So that is exactly what he did.
The Cat/President put his tail straight up in the air and reversed to within one foot of the door he had just emerged from. A jet of liquid was propelled from just beneath his swaying appendage, to drip down the doorpost and soak into the White House carpet. The President was marking his territory. The cleaners were going to have a job in the morning. Barack Obama sauntered away from the messy doorway and bounded up the stairs.
President Barack Obama and President Abraham Lincoln.
In the corridor on the first floor there is a room called “The Abraham Lincoln” bedroom. This is said to be the very room that was occupied by the great liberator of the slaves. Often times the ghost of President Lincoln has been seen coming out of the door of his bedroom. People who monitor the cameras in that part of the house have seen his ghostly presence walking that particular corridor. This night was one in which he decided to go for a stroll. The Head of Presidential Security was watching everything that happened on the CCTV. When the felinely enhanced Barack reached the top of the stairs he was confronted by the shade of his distinguished predecessor. He jumped back and in a tangle of “Old Glory” underpants, crushed grin and wildly trashing stripy tail, he fell back down the carpeted stairs. A puzzled look spread across the face of the ghost. Then he just shook his head and disappeared.
At the foot of the stairs The President/Cat got up and shook himself. He seemed to have not come to any harm from his tumble. There was some dust and carpet fluff on his body, and some on his tail. The “Old Glory” underpants were looking a bit skewed also. In full view of the watching security chief he adjusted his nether garment. The watcher was then treated to the sight of The President of The United States licking himself all over until not a trace of dust or carpet fluff remained. He tried to scratch an itchy bit behind his ear, using his right leg, but the still human limb was not as flexible as a truly feline one, so he had to settle for using his hand instead.
What happens next? Has the President got fleas?
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