Some of my best friends are cat people. I’m particularly indebted to our neighbor Laura, a self-described “crazy cat lady” who took in Albert, the most unusual feline I’ve known.

One time when we lived in the country, we walked through the fields to check on Albert where he’d set up temporary headquarters hunting mice in the neighbor’s hay barn. He came sauntering out to greet us, walking straight through a flock of turkey vultures cleaning up carrion on the ground. The buzzards paid him no mind. My wife was flabbergasted.

Albert always had his own plan. Except for one time after I’d broken three ribs in a fall from a horse. He converted himself from a barn cat to a house pet: sitting on the arm of my chair purring and helping me watch the Red Sox on TV until I healed up.

I was absurdly fond of that cat.

Altogether, Albert lived with us for ten years before relocating to Laura’s front porch. After moving back to town, we’d adopted an energetic young dog—a Great Pyrenees-Husky mix who thinks cat-pestering is great fun. I don’t believe he means to hurt them—Aspen is a friendly, gentle animal in other respects—but Albert wasn’t sticking around to find out. I figured he’d adapt, but he chose Laura’s front porch instead.

He's always been a shrewd judge of character. Laura feeds him, pets him, and takes him to the vet. We pay the vet bills and make occasional visits, where he’s somewhat aloof but friendly. So, it’s all worked out for the best.

Indeed, Laura has recently managed something I’d have thought impossible: she’s converted the now 15-year-old orange tabby to an indoor cat. He no longer prowls the neighborhood killing rats and getting into fights. He’s living as an older gentleman among Laura’s several cats.

In short, she’s a feline philanthropist and a wonderful neighbor. I know she has elderly parents nearby that she cares for, but Laura’s intimate life isn’t something we talk about. Her immediate family consists of her and the cats.

In other words, J.D. Vance can kiss my grits, as we say in Arkansas when we’re being nice.

So, I don’t know if “weird” is the right word, but he and Trump are definitely soul brothers. Try to imagine why a politician would be fool enough to call Jennifer Aniston, the widely beloved actress—she has a reported 50 million Instagram followers—"disgusting.”

Aniston’s sin was objecting to the “childless” part of “childless cat ladies who are miserable in their own lives” and therefore “have no direct stake in America.”

On her Instagram account, the actress, who has made no secret of her struggles to become a mother, commented “Mr. Vance, I pray that your daughter is fortunate enough to bear children of her own one day. I hope she will not have to turn to IVF as a second option. Because you are trying to take that away from her too.”

It's true. A fierce anti-abortion activist, Vance voted against a Democratic bill to protect IVF rights. What he found “disgusting” was the actress’s mention of his two-year-old daughter. Evidently, only he gets to use his children as political pawns.

Has any national politician ever had a more unfortunate coming-out? This guy makes Alaskan “Hockey Mom” Sarah Palin look like Abraham Lincoln by comparison. As my man Charles Pierce puts it, “Vance may be the worst public politician I have ever seen. No kidding. This guy could screw up a two-car funeral if you spotted him the hearse.”

Vance’s liege and sovereign lord, meanwhile, has been going around the country promising his followers that if he’s elected in 2024, there won’t be any need for future elections. Or something.

“Christians, get out and vote! Just this time,” Donald Trump told an audience of evangelicals last week. “You won’t have to do it anymore. Four more years. You know what? It’ll be fixed! It’ll be fine! You won’t have to vote anymore, my beautiful Christians. I love you, Christians! I’m a Christian.”

Yeah, well if he’s a Christian, I’m the Pope.

On her Fox News program, Laura Ingraham all but begged Trump to clear up his ambiguous remarks. Surely, he didn’t mean to say he’d rule as a dictator?

Trump only repeated himself in one of his classic bafflegab statements: “Don’t worry about the future,” he said. “You have to vote on November 5. After that, you don’t have to worry about voting anymore, I don’t care, because the country will be fixed, and we won’t even need your vote anymore because frankly, we will have such love if you don’t want to vote anymore, that’s OK.”

We’re all supposed to pretend that Trump’s engaging in strategic ambiguity, and is not simply a cunning but confused old man slipping into senility.

Truth is, he’s halfway gone.

Gene Lyons is a former columnist for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, a winner of the National Magazine Award, and co-author of The Hunting of the President.