Chuck Grassley reminisces about witnessing the signing of the Declaration of Independence
"I didn't drool as much back then."
Chuck Grassley is old. Chuck Grassley is very old. He has outlived all his friends and family.
Chuck Grassley likes to talk. Chuck Grassley likes to reminisce. And he has a couple of centuries of memories upon which to reminisce.
Chuck has no friends. Chuck smells funny. Chuck is lonely.
Cats are curious.
So when a curious cat (i.e. me) was walking by Chuck’s office-bedroom at 10 AM just as he was rising from his morning nap he knew had a captive audience.
He called to me, “Here kitty, kitty - wait, what was I saying? Oh yeah - kitty. Come here kitty.”
My fur stood on end and I hissed instinctively. I knew this was not a good thing and it would not end well. But he opened a can of tuna and placed it gently on the floor.
My greed got the best of me, and against every cat instinct in my body, I entered and started munching on tuna. He closed and locked the door.
Once I thought about it for a minute, I decided it was kind of cool - the only senator who had witnessed the signing of the Declaration of Independence had invited me in for a little nosh.
And sitting on his desk was a photo of the signing. I stared briefly and then looked away.
“Oh kitty, you can look. See that little boy on the far right? That was me. I was 10 years old. I didn’t drool as much back then. I worked for those men.
“We didn’t have plumbing in those days and it was my job to hold a piss-pot for them when they had to relieve themselves. That’s how the expression “to carry water for someone” originated. I was the original piss-boy. I carried water for a lot of very important people. I still do.”
He went on for what seemed like a century and when he reached his time during the Civil War I decided that I was through listening and started looking for a break in the narrative. None was forthcoming. I decided that the only way he was going to let me out of his office-bedroom would come if I started to piss on his desk.
It didn’t work. He saw the first dribble, his sense of duty to America kicked in and he pulled out a gold plated piss-pot that had been given to him by the signers of the Declaration back in 1776, and said proudly, “Here you go sir.”
Old habits don’t die easily.