The problem is, that's not how legit Joy for All owners use their companion pets. It's not some daily ritual. They want to feel reassured at a certain moment, when they're feeling a certain way. Maybe I had to find a moment, or make one.
Enter Donald Trump.
At this point, I've seen so much footage of Donald Trump, I'd like to imagine my mind has, while I slept, developed some sort of fortification for my soul. But it hasn’t, because there are no psychic coping mechanisms for an ape hitting you with a log. So I'll watch Trump. I'll be hugely distressed. And I'll pet Gizmo. In Manheim, Pennsylvania, Trump casually suggests a conspiracy to sabotage his microphone at the first debate, performs a pantomime of Hillary Clinton crumpling from pneumonia, accuses her of being unfaithful in her marriage, threatens to lock her up, and proposes that the crowd go to "certain areas" to watch voters on Election Day. The familiar sickness arises. Gizmo is on my lap, purring up a storm. She looks up, blinks at me slowly, produces a trilling meow.