The Presidential Princess: A DEI Story

The writer is a current president.

After all the emphasis on canines in The Sandbox, is there no justice for our feline friends? My fur princess has been my best companion along my entire presidential journey, and, it turns out, she is more popular than I am on campus.

Years ago, when the search committee chair called to let me know that I was the sole finalist being advanced to the Board of Trustees for consideration, I was elated. My professional dream had come true, and I had to celebrate. I called my spouse. No answer. I called my sibling. No answer. I called my parents. No answer.

My kitty stayed by my side during the calls, so I said to her, “I think Daddy just landed his dream job. We are moving, and you are going to have a really big house to play in!”

But she did more than play. She became a partner in my presidency.

Three days after we moved in, she found a hole in the cabinetry upstairs in the presidential house and got stuck between the first and second floors. I called the physical plant team and said, “Hi, I’m the new guy. Any chance the cat could get stuck in the walls?” No. Not possible. Eager to impress the new president, the whole physical plant team showed up at the house to try to find the cat. Sure enough, she got herself stuck and it took four grown men to lure her out of the wall with treats.

The president’s house may seem like a big perk of the job—until you’ve actually lived in one. That first night, I awoke to a crunching noise. The cat was between my legs and was eating something. A bat. Today there have been 54 bats (that have actually come out of the walls) since we have been in the house. My feline hero has dispatched 51 of them.

Over time, her presence has grown. She was asked to write a column introducing herself to the readers of the institution’s magazine. Her “voice” is like a Southern version of Violet Crawley from Downton Abbey [Ed’s notes: Good thing she wasn’t Lady Whistledown!], and her musings quickly became a hit. She now writes for each issue, which is a bit challenging, since her days all seem to be quite the same.

At first, she didn’t like crowds and would stay away from events hosted in the house. But when I stood on the lower landing of a staircase to give remarks, she would hear my voice, think that we were alone, parade down the stairs in grand fashion, make some rounds to ensure that all had seen her, and head back up. Now she is perfectly fine with the crowds, but I do have to remind attendees that she is a cat and doesn’t always know where playing ends and hurting people begins. So, pet at your own risk! [Ed’s note: &%^# cats! Sociopathy!]

Of course, the calls to see her have always been quite loud. During the pandemic, I had to bring her onto Zoom calls. She never wanted to participate when I wanted her to but somehow always did when I didn’t. [Ed’s note: Cats are still the best part of Zoom.] We would take her to the Blessing of the Animals, but had to bring her in late to the ceremony because she regards herself as above the others. We even bought a stroller so she could be seen a little more regularly, lengthening our many walks around campus. [Ed’s note: OMG! Cat people!]

My cat’s impact on my presidency has been as significant as it was unexpected. Students long to be around her. Donors have given gifts in her honor (and one even sent her personalized letterhead after she complained in her thank-you note to the donor that she was writing on her dad’s letterhead because I wouldn’t get her any of her own).

But most importantly, she is the one constant when I come home at the end of the day. She can tell if it was a bad day and will spend every minute trying to make me feel better. It seems even she knows how hard this job can be.