From the perspective of my two cats, I am not unlike Kim Jong Il.
They understand that I am their incontestable president and national father. I am their tyrant, protector, rule-maker and chief source of anxiety, fear and comfort. I am their militaristic expert, number one celebrity, popular legend and mythological hero. I am imperious, larger than life and I exemplify perfection as the sole provider of their shelter, food and emotional contentment. They worship the ground upon which their supreme leader walks and they clamor to snooze where I have once been seated. They are blessed to receive any scraps that might fall by my feet. They are dependent upon me for their health and happiness, sing my praises and follow me blindly without dispute. For should they ever dare question me they surely imagine a grave penalty, a punishment that would reverberate through the empty streets of their idyllic facade of a country.
As they have never been permitted to leave their homeland, and as they haven’t spent too much time reading western imperialist newspapers, I allow these poor blessed creatures to continue to believe that I am all of these things, for it satisfies and amuses my megalomania as a pet owner.
However I’m sure that nobody dares to walk on Kim Jong Il’s head at night, claw his face or track cat litter into his bedsheets…
[c] 2009 Russ of America