Now look what they’ve made me do.

If there was one swamp that I have prudently sidestepped over the past few years in talking with you, it would be the political cow plop left on the side of the road by those on the campaign trail.

Wasn’t always the case, of course. I dipped in a toe here or there in the past, but as I’ve aged like high-quality cheese my desire to pungently slice apart such bloviating with a fine whine has mellowed.

But, as you’ve probably heard tell by now, an unearthed broadside has hit a tad too close to home.

It seems that, a few years back, a current candidate for national office commented that America was being run by “a bunch of childless cat ladies who are miserable in their own lives and the choices that they’ve made, and so they want to make the rest of the country miserable, too.”

Being a childless cat person myself, I naturally took offense. As though we few, we happy few, are unable to band together with our good hearts in the bright sun and think only of what is best for our country.

And, of course, the cats.

What about a childless couple with dogs? Or a confirmed bachelor with a parakeet, goldfish and a turtle? Does a pet rock count? There is much to consider here … and a lot of meat on the bone for columnists.

In those carefree days of yore, when I was prone to discussing political bloviating at length, I might have responded to this cultural crusade with a poetic treatise of lament, of serious reflection — an elegy, if you will — about being castigated in such a manner.

Now, however, I choose to walk the more mature path. So, while a classical verse involving rubber and glue comes to mind, I instead will close my eyes, stick my forefingers in my ears, and chant “lalalalalalalalalalalalalala” until peace once again reigns o’er the land.

Besides, if childless cat people are to become the popular targets of bloviating politicos, who else might be in danger?

We can only imagine a time where value of one’s investment in the future of the United States would be measured by how you take your coffee. Could those who drink it black come under fire by an Axis of Evil consisting of those who add milk, or cream, or half and half — an alliance that would surely break down as each tried to exert authority over the others?

“What kind of nonsense is ‘half-and-half’ anyway,” the other two factions would demand condescendingly. “Chose a side already.”

Systemic collapse would be imminent as attention was turned to condiment options. White sugar? Brown sugar? Artificial sweetener — if so, which color packet … blue, pink, yellow?

You’re not one of those earthy-crunchy green packet loons are you?

Are you a true believer in the sock-sock, shoe-shoe foundation of our country — or a member of the radical fringe that insists on sock-shoe, sock-shoe? Do you pump your own gas, or let a member of the proletariat do so? Do you cut the crust off the bread on your sandwich? Speaking of sandwiches: hot dogs … yes or no?

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalala.

Here I thought the election would be decided on critical issues — such as the economy, America’s role in international conflict, and plastic straws — yet I find myself defending my right to be a cat person.

Sometimes, try as you might, you simply can’t sidestep the cow plop when it’s bloviated at your doorstep.