We have a cat. Some of you may even have met him. Luca is an orange tabby: a pensive, intelligent, and independent creature of habit who hates change, mistrusts authority, and abhors any form of centralized control that seeks to tell him when he should take a walk, eat, or shit. He's clearly a conservative.
This election has been distressingly confusing for conservative Luca. He proudly lines his cat house with a newspaper front page that headlined the 2017 Trump Inauguration. He is exceedingly proud to share the same hair color. He hates Kamala because she stands for People. What about Cats?
But Luca is befuddled by all the anti-Chinese rhetoric from the Right. Luca is pro-Chinese ever since one of his buddies convinced him that Chinese could be ardently anti-dog. Luca knows childless cat ladies are clearly good for cats, so he thinks JD Vance is a fuckin' moron bitch for disparaging lovable cat ladies. He even showed his recent and unambiguous displeasure for the VP candidate by peeing on a JD Vance photo in a newspaper some weeks ago.
Perhaps I omitted to tell you that his methods are quite direct and sometimes pungent.
Luca watched the Presidential Debate sitting on the brown leather couch, shredded at the edges from his prior scratches of frustrating disapproval when liberals have endlessly pontificated on TV. He watched the entire debate with unflinching green cat eyes, but with his head approvingly tilted towards Trump. He bared his fangs once at Kamala when she sneered at Trump with her hand under her chin. He also displayed admirable gender equality by hissing once at each of the hapless moderators.
For all you cat-less child-bearers, these are clear and powerful signs of feline disapproval.
Things took a drastic turn when Trump talked about roving murderous immigrants terrorizing American streets, snatching and instantly devouring luckless cats and pluckless dogs from law-abiding households in Springfield. Luca jumped right off the couch and hid underneath. He had shrunk to about half his size. Nothing could get him out.
He now sits at his usual spot on the window sill, terrified, staring out at the street between the gaps in the slats, looking out for ravenous immigrants. I have tried to assure him that Trump had also mentioned dog-baiting immigrants and don't we all know that dogs are dumb, trusting, and far easier to catch? Besides, they taste more like chicken.
Alas, my feeble reassurances have not helped Luca much, leaving me convinced that he really needs sessions on the couch, rather than beneath it.
Now for a strange twist. Given our neighborhood and the kinds of people who generally visit our home, Luca thinks immigrants are white people.
I have decided to leave that one alone.
