"Once upon a time there was a little red hen named Kathleen."

Writes Meade:

She lived in a party of Democrats with a cat named Tom and others and they all lived in a pretty little state which the little red hen Kathleen liked to keep clean and tidy and unionized. The little red hen Kathleen worked hard. The cat Tom liked to sleep in the sun in Milwaukee.

One day the little red hen Kathleen was working in the garden when she found a grain of discontent.

"Who will help me nurture this grain of discontent?" she asked.

"Not I," purred the cat Tom from his sunny patch in Milwaukee.



So the little red hen Kathleen hoed and watered and fed the grain of discontent all by herself.

During the summer the grain of discontent grew. First it grew into a tall stalk, then it ripened in the sun until it had turned a lovely golden color. Soon the little red hen Kathleen saw that the discontent was ready for reaping.

"Who will help me reap this discontent?" asked the little red hen Kathleen.

"Not I," purred the cat Tom from his sunny patch in Milwaukee.

"Very well then, I will reap it myself," said the little red hen Kathleen. Carefully she counted signatures, made pledges to union bosses, and collected all the petitions of discontent.

"Who will take this bushel of discontent to the unionized mill so that it can be ground into recall election flour?" asked the little red hen Kathleen.

"Not I," purred the cat Tom from his sunny patch in Milwaukee.

So the little red hen Kathleen took the discontent to the unionized mill herself, and asked the union bosses there if they would be so kind as to grind it into political power flour.  Deals were discussed, quids were proed for quo's, pledges and promises were made.

In time the union bosses sent a little bag of political power flour down to the party where the little red hen Kathleen lived with the cat Tom and others.

"Who will help me to make this political power flour into governor bread?" asked the little red hen Kathleen.

"Not I," purred the cat Tom from his sunny patch in Milwaukee.

"Very well," said the little red hen Kathleen. "I shall make the governor bread myself." She went into her neat little unionized kitchen. She mixed a yeasty dough, kneaded it, set it to uprise, and put it in the hot oven.

Soon there was a lovely smell of hot fresh governor bread. It filled all the corners of the house and wafted out into the garden. The cat Tom came into the kitchen from his sunny patch in Milwaukee.  When the little red hen Kathleen opened the oven door the dough had risen up and had turned into the nicest, most delicious looking loaf of governor bread either of them had ever seen.

"Who is going to eat this governor bread?" asked the little red hen Kathleen.

"I will," purred the cat Tom.

"Oh no, you won't," said the little red hen Kathleen. "I nurtured the seed of discontent, I reaped it and took it to the unionized mill to be made into political flour, and I made the governor bread all by myself (after deals were discussed, quids were proed for quos, and pledges and promises were made). I shall now enjoy the governor bread all by myself."

"Not so fast," said three big old Democratic party race horses, standing at stud — horse Kohl, horse Obey, and horse Erpenbach. "WE are the wise male noble steeds of the party. Behold our reservoirs of testosterone and wisdom.  WE shall decide who gets to enjoy the governor bread."

And with that the little red hen Kathleen was told to go back to her unionized kitchen and the cat Tom shared the bread with his friend, the snake Rahm from Illinois.