We were at the dinner table the other night when I saw it coming: The group was on the verge of having a political conversation, and it was up to me to head it off.

“Political conversation” is of course an oxymoron. Who among us converses politely, thoughtfully and calmly about politics these days? Politics puts a damper on a dinner party faster than you can say, “Please pass the potatoes.”

But before I continue, I need to tell you a quick story. Over the years I’ve observed that all families seem to have little phrases and jokes that they invoke time and again, sometimes with just a word or two. One of our family’s phrases is, “Pat the kitty.”

“Pat the kitty” was born about 20 years ago, when the four of us were at the table having a difficult conversation. I freely admit that I abhor conflict and that hard conversations make me very anxious. At some point, as tensions increased and my anxiety peaked, one of our cats jumped into our teenage daughter’s lap.

Hoping against hope to de-escalate things, I said nervously, “Aww. Pat the kitty, Sarah.” Upon which all three of them — husband, son and daughter — hurled invectives that I dare not repeat.

Since then, though, we’ve laughed a lot about “Pat the kitty” and Mama’s ongoing quest to avoid touchy subjects. It has become one of those family phrases.

Indeed, the other night, when I tried valiantly to steer the conversation in another direction — any direction but politics — my husband smirked and said, “That’s right, Frances. Pat the kitty.”

But there was no cat in the dining room, and so I did the only thing I could think of: “Please,” I said anxiously, “let’s not talk about politics.” It worked. Somebody changed the subject and the conversation moved on.

If it hadn’t, well, let’s just say that I knew the political beliefs of the people around the dinner table and that tempers could flare quickly. Specifically, there were some Trump fans and some yellow dog Democrats. (For those who do not know the history of Southern politics, a yellow dog Democrat is someone who’d vote for a yellow dog before he/she would vote for a Republican.) The group also included sharp tongues and high intellects.

It was a runaway train waiting to crash.

I was lucky in that, to my surprise, the group easily moved on to another subject. But what do you do when politics threatens to ruin parties, routine conversations, friendships and casual encounters?

I was so horrified this past Thanksgiving, when one dinner guest brought up a certain former president and then persisted in trying to stir the political pot, that I found myself gasping, slapping my hand on the table and saying loudly, “We are NOT going to talk about politics today, or I swear I’m going outside.”

Because I don’t often raise my voice, and because some of the other guests also didn’t want to talk politics, it worked. But what do you do — short of slugging the guest who won’t be silenced — when that tactic doesn’t work? I have some thoughts:

You could always pull the old “Oh, my goodness, I knocked over my water glass” trick — which with ice, water and broken glass ought to divert the runaway train. If it doesn’t, then knock over a glass of red wine on the pristine white tablecloth.

If beverages don’t work and people are starting to insult one another, then you might have to be bold: Drop a plate of food, silverware included. Nothing would interrupt a snarky and snarly conversation like giblet gravy splattering on Aunt Minerva’s blouse and piping-hot sweet potatoes landing on a child’s bare arm as the plate, fork, knife, turkey, dressing and cranberry sauce land on the floor.

It should go without saying, but I’ll say it anyway, that you also should put away the alcohol. Nothing fuels a fight like booze. Plus, when you stop serving liquor, many of your guests will leave early.

That’s all I can think of for now. You may have your own tactics for staving off ugly political arguments, especially in this presidential election season. If they have the potential to defuse things, then as long as the tactics aren’t illegal or immoral, I say give them a try.

And in case your best efforts fail, know that you can always slip upstairs, grab one of the family cats and prepare yourself to invoke “Pat the kitty.” It’s so goofy that it just might work.

Frances Coleman is a former editorial page editor of the Mobile Press-Register. Email her at [email protected] and “like” her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/prfrances.