How to Register Your Cat to Vote (A Necessary Evil to Save Democracy)

Hey! Something terrifying is happening… and guess who’s to blame? That’s right—Trump and his Republican cronies. Dear friend, they’re in the middle of pushing to pass this so-called “SAVE Act,” and let me tell you, the only thing it’s saving is their ability to win by cheating. It’s all dressed up in fancy language about “proof of citizenship,” but we all know what it really is: a voter suppression scheme designed to make it harder for people—certain kinds of people, if you know what I mean—to vote.
They want documents. They want IDs. They want to make you jump through hoops just to participate in your own democracy. It’s disgusting. It’s un-American. And it forces the hands of good, decent people like us to take drastic measures. So, yes, I am about to explain how to register your cat to vote. Is it ideal? No. Is it legal? Well, that’s a gray area, isn’t it? But is it a necessary evil to fight back against a system trying to silence us? Absolutely.
Think of it as civil disobedience, but with more fur and a healthy disregard for your precious constitution. Here’s how you do it.

Step 1: Choose Your Voter

Not every cat is cut out for the rigors of civic duty. You need a cat with a certain… gravitas. My cat, Manager, is a natural. He’s judgmental, he stares at service workers, and he has a look of perpetual indignation. Basically, he’s already a Republican, but we’re working on that. You want a cat whose name sounds plausible on a voter roll. “Mr. Snookums” might raise a flag. “J. P. Whiskers” has a certain ring to it.

Step 2: The Documentation Hustle

This is where the SAVE Act tries to trip you up, but where there’s a will, there’s a loophole. The act requires “documentary proof of United States citizenship.” It doesn’t say the document has to be for a human.

• The Birth Certificate: Your cat was born in the United States, right? In your laundry basket? That counts! Go to a website, download a blank “Certificate of Live Birth” template, and fill it out. “Place of Birth: The Warmest Spot on the Ottoman, Wisconsin.” “Father: Unknown Stray.” “Mother: Mittens.” Print it on nice paper. Who are they to question it?
• The ID: They want a government-issued photo ID. This is the trickiest part. Cats don’t sit for photos. But you know what they do have? Vet records. Those are official! Get your vet to write a note confirming “J. P. Whiskers” is a patient in good standing. Then, take a picture of your cat looking grumpy. Glue it to an expired library card. Laminate it. Boom. Photo ID.

Step 3: The Registration Form

Fill out the voter registration form. Use your address. For the party affiliation, check whatever box aligns with your values. Your cat can’t form its own political opinions, so it has to borrow yours. It’s for their own good. When it asks for the ID number, just make one up. They’re so overwhelmed they’ll never check. And if they do, you can just say you “misremembered.” It works for the President.

Step 4: Mail It In and Pray

Drop it in the mailbox and wait. If you get a follow-up, just ignore it. They’ll probably just approve it anyway. Bureaucracy is on our side for once.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. “But Karen, this is wrong!” Is it, though? Is it more wrong than systematically disenfranchising thousands of voters because they don’t have the right kind of paperwork? Is it more wrong than gerrymandering districts into pretzels? Is it more wrong than a President who talks about invading Greenland? I didn’t think so.
This is about balance, dear friend. They cheat, so we have to… level the playing field. My cat Manager may not be able to understand the nuances of foreign policy, but he understands injustice. And he deserves to have his voice heard, even if that voice is a meow for more tuna and a blue Congress.
Why are you booing? I’m right.