By Gary Dickson, Editor – Siouxland Observer

It was a grey and cloudy Sunday in Dakota Dunes, S.D., the community that knows how to restrict its house colors.

My wife and I—both childless cat parents—had been doing our best to avoid doing any household chores while switching between watching the Detroit Lions demolish the Greenbay Packers and Kirk Cousins and the Atlanta Falcons pounce on the Dallas Cowboys. Still, we managed to do some laundry, take the garbage out and cook cheeseburger soup in the Crockpot. All in all, not too bad for a gal from Chancellor and a guy from Sturgis.

All afternoon and into the evening we’d been subject to a barrage of political ads mostly from the Independent candidate for Senate in Nebraska (who is a Trump admirer), both sides of the abortion battle in Nebraska, Vice President Harris, and questionable “facts” in Trump commercials.

I began to wonder what our innocent little kitty, Willie thought about the election – especially the presidential one. After all, Willie is a smart cat, probably even smarter than Donald Trump and his running mate. Besides, J.D. Vance had made Willie and his feline friends part of the political discussion earlier in the campaign, so I figured my furry cat son had a legitimate right to weigh in with his opinion.

I woke him from a nap while the Minnesota Vikings and Indianapolis Colts were playing on TV and he was none too happy about it.

“Hey Willie,” I said nudging him gently with my hand. “Wake up furball! I wanna talk to you.”

“What the hell?” he said in a nasty-sounding growl. “Leave me alone. Do you wanna lose some fingers, human? I’m taking a beauty sleep.”

“Yeah? When’s it supposed to start taking effect?” I wisecracked.

“Ha, ha, ha, a real comedian you are. You oughta run for office. Like maybe turd sheriff.”

“Well, that’s kind of what I want to talk to you about, dude.”

“You mean you’re really gonna run for turd sheriff?” Willie asked. “I can be your campaign manager.”

“No, no, dizz brain, there’s no such thing as a turd sheriff.”

“Then why’d you say you were going to run for it? What’s the matter with you, Popster? Sheesh!”

“Nothing’s the matter with . . . forget it! I don’t know how we got to this point.

“Turds.”

“No, not turds! I was going to ask you about politics and . . . “

“Well, why in the name of Garfield didn’t you say so, Pinky! Speak up, man! Articulate!”

I had about had it with my feline companion by this point. “And, what do you think about the presidential race. I mean, after all, the election is just two days away.”

“Yeah, I know it is,” Willie said impatiently. “I haven’t exactly been living in a barn in rural Meade County, you know. I stay on top of current events. I’ve formed opinions. I’ve answered telephone and online polls. This cat is involved.”

“Okay, fine,” I told Willie. “Let’s start with former president Trump. Tell me what do think about him.”

“Trump?” my cat asked. “You mean Drumpf, don’t you? Drumpf was his family’s original name back when they first came to the U.S., but they were ashamed of it, so his father or his grandfather changed it to Trump. That’s like if my name had been something like Fluffy or Poofy and you changed my name to Macalester McMouser. Holy Water-Walking Jesus! That would be horrible. I’m glad I was born with Willie and Willie is what you kept me as! Now, where was I?”

“Uh, you were going to tell me what you thought about Trump, but you got sidelined on his name origin,” I explained.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Well, he’s an asshole and a Nazi for starters.”

“Wait, you shouldn’t call Trump an asshole.”

“What if I say he’s a rectum entry?”

“That might confuse some people – especially his supporters and MAGA types. Let’s stick with asshole.”

“What about Nazi? Can I use that?” Willie asked.

“Maybe fascist is a better word,” Wills. “It has a broader application.”

“Sigh. Okay, if you say so,” Willie said. “Well, he’s also a racist, a nativist, a misogynist, a 32-time convicted felon and a philanderer. He has a history of sexual assault, he curries favor with dictators, doesn’t respect combat veterans, has said that he would be a dictator on the first day of his administration, has threatened to kill a former congresswoman, wants to give the richest people tax breaks, would put in place tariffs that would place a financial burden on the middle class, would punish women who had abortions and wants to round up and deport immigrants, and wants to punish his adversaries.

“This jerk has never had a pet,” he continued. “He has promoted the lie that Haitian immigrants in Springfield, Ohio are eating dogs and cats. Trump was the first American president to try to overturn an election and prevent the peaceful transference of power. He would pursue a far-right agenda laid out in the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025. And worst of all, he is a friend of that puppy killer, our governor Kristi Noem, who killed her dog, Cricket and a goat just because she was having a bad day.

“His running mate is J.D. Vance, who is another serial liar who can’t make up his mind what name to call himself, does unspeakable sexual things to couches and tries to make fun of women who didn’t have children but had cats.”

“Wow, Willie! You’ve formed quite an opinion of Trump and Vance there,” I said, amazed. How did you learn so much about him?”

“Well, Popster, I read newspapers on your and Meowmy’s cellphones whenever I get a chance and I watch TV and listen to the radio when it’s on – even when you guys aren’t around. And I listened to you two talk about politics and there’s those little talks that you and I have and Meowmy and I have early in the morning about the news. I pretty much formed my own opinion from all that,” he said.

“I guess you pretty much feel that Trump doesn’t have any moral or ethical foundation do you,” I asked.

“None whatsoever,” Willie responded. “He doesn’t have a conscience or ability to empathize. Everything is about him. Just watch him or listen to him. All he does is brag and lie. Except now most of what he does is spew the gas and acid of his grudges. In fact, Trump and his cronies, including Kristi Noem, are a waste of human flesh, in my humble kitty opinion.”

“I don’t know if I should ask you what you think about Trump’s supporters,” I said warily.

“Oh, Popster,” Willie said chuckling in his feline way. “Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud. My thoughts about these people is that they’re pretty simple folk who have difficulty thinking for themselves. They’ve gotten caught up in a cult of some kind supporting someone who reflects one, a few, or most of their most vile, putrid thoughts about themselves, others and the world. Trump gives them permission to vent or squirt this anger, rage and hate outward so they don’t have to deal with it personally. These Trumpsters and MAGAnoids get temporary relief by spewing hate and rage that they become hooked on it, just like an alcoholic or drug addict gets hooked. All of these supporters and cult members are like a big alcoholic family that enables the alcoholic or addict to continue – except in this case, it’s Trump. And they may act out in the open or in secret, so their neighbors don’t learn about them until it’s too late.”

“So I get it,” I told Willie. “They’ll continue to do so until they realize the drug isn’t working anymore for them and they decide to leave the family or cult.”

“Or they go to prison or die,” my furball political analyst said.

“Holy Buckets!” I told Willie, you’ve put a lot of thought into this, little buddy. I’m glad I’m writing this all down in a column for the Siouxland Observer.”

“Me too, Pinky. I think deep thoughts a lot of the time I’m staring into space or looking through the curtains outside,” he said. “My short little attention span and memory might sabotage this train of pondering if it weren’t for the repetition of the media in our home.”

“I guess we can sing ‘Hallelujah’ to PBS, CBS, and the New York Times,” I said.

“And Leonard Cohen,” said Willie.

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