Sherry Chandler

Marc Fisher of the Washington Post had this to say on Tuesday about George W. Bush’s bike ride on the day the Cessna wandered into White House space:

When the wayward Cessna approached the White House last week, the president was out riding his mountain bike on the winding trails of Patuxent Research Refuge, 12,790 acres of woods and ponds where endangered whooping cranes live, migratory birds make their pit stops, and hikers, hunters and bird-watchers spend their leisure hours.

But don’t expect to follow President Bush’s example in the late afternoon or evening, or on Memorial Day, the Fourth of July or any other national holiday, because the same president who repairs to Patuxent for his recreation has saddled the refuge with budget cuts that have forced a sharp reduction in its public opening hours and other services.

Meanwhile, the AP reports , via the Boston Herald, that Laura Bush thinks the President should have been told about the Cessna and the evacuation of the White House:

“I think he should have been interrupted, but I’m not going to second-guess the Secret Service that were with him,” she told reporters shortly after taking off Thursday night on a trip to the Middle East.

Mrs. Bush’s 5-day tour of the Middle East is intended, in part, to “help repair the U.S. image overseas.”

–from an e-mail I received recently from my husband about Bertie, the latest stray cat invited to join the family. Bertie is black, the fifth in our succession of black cats. [Update: TR reminds me that I missed Luke, so Bertie is our 6th black cat.] The cats pictured are Gremlin, our second black cat, and Cynthia, both passed on to that great mound of bedclothes in the sky. They were fond of this yin yang sleeping position.

Bertie’s sermon from his mound of bedclothes:

Blessed are the plump lazy mice, that their exit from the earth might be the more swift and succulent.

Blessed is my Food Pan on the Porch, so coveted that Peanut would have another of his own.

Blessed are the Robins, for their simplicity taxeth neither my stealth nor ingenuity.

Blessed is the Comfy Chair, where I may drowse in warmth and security.

Blessed is a pristine Litter Tray, may it bring me ease.

Blessed is the Door, when it delivers me from the Adversary [Sister-cat]; let Her hold suzerainty over the Wild and the Wet, when I do not care to bestir myself.

Blessed is the Bed, so full of potential Playfellows, so perfect for my Nap.

Blessed are these mounds of bedclothes, for they contain mysteries and alarums for me to chase and maul.

Blessed are the Cheesemakers, may their tribe increase; lo the toothsomness of their labor prefigures Paradise.

—TR Williams