I DIDN’T always go by VanderBus. My mother named me Kiev. She was very supportive of Ukraine from the moment Putin invaded there. In fact, the last time I saw her, she was planning to board a ship as a mouse catcher, in order to get to Ukraine via Rotterdam and Odessa, to join the fight. She has razor-sharp nails.
That was the reason why I left my parent’s home at the age of six weeks. I went to catch a bus for my mom. Line 20 stops at the Penobscot River in Bangor, and big boats dock there every day. Seemed the fastest way for Mom to get to the front, via Holland, I figured.
Things went a little differently. I caught the bus, yes. But then fumbled. It stopped for a moment, drove again, and before I knew it a lady picked me up from the road. Within minutes I was sitting on a table at the vet’s office. One eye lost.
While under anesthesia, I had an epiphany. What if I became president of the United States? Then I could obstruct and frustrate Putin and his thugs much better. Send lots of money and weapons to the real Kiev. Impose the toughest sanctions Russia has ever faced. Unlock the gates of Moscow’s zoo, and let the lions roam the streets there.
And so I announced my candidacy. One-eye in the land of those who see. Younger, much younger, much better too, than my opponents. The cat. Of that bus. VanderBus.
