Special Guest Blogger: James A. Garfield

Before having a big orange cartoon cat named after me, i was a firm supporter of black's though not enough to consider them as equal with the white man, but a bit more equal then they were being credit for by my fellow Americans.
For example i opposed passage of the Klu Klux Klan Act which would empower me to suspend the writ of habeas corpus to combat white supremacy organisations but i did emphasize the civil rights of African Americans.
I was shot by Charles J. Guiteau who burst out of the ladies toilets at the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad Station in Washington, D.C. on July but my long, lingering death proved to be quite controversial.
After eleven weeks of intensive care, i became the second of four presidents to be assassinated, following Abraham Lincoln but it wasn't as clear cut as that makes it sound.
Guiteau's bullet ricocheted around my rib cage for a bit before becoming embedded somewhere in my abdomen and it was here that several doctors examined me, probing the wound with unwashed fingers.
I even got Alexander Graham Bell to try and locate the bullet with a primitive metal detector without success so the dirty and unhygienic doctors probed some more hoping to find the bullet but they only made the infection worse.
Shot in July, i died in September from the now widely spread infection caused by the mucky fingered doctors and Guiteau's lawyers argued that he could not be held responsible for my death as it was caused by the doctors who mistreated me and my subsequent death but when that failed they tried to plead insanity but he was swinging by his neck from the gallows months later regardless of his madness or otherwise.
I don't know why a fat, lazy, wisecracking, lasagna-eating cat who is always eating and sleeping was given my name, sounds more like William Howard Taft to me.