We’ve lived together for over 16 years and we’ve never once discussed marriage. But I love him.
I prepare his meals just as he likes them. I cut his meat and fish into tiny pieces for him. I fix him warm milk not only at bedtime, but anytime he wants some. At breakfast, his eggs are perfectly steamed. Yes, steamed! And every day I put out bowls of snacks and goodies for him.
Yes, I just can’t help lovin’ that cat o’mine.
Well, who did you think I would steam eggs for, huh?!!
He has become extremely finicky of late, and because he doesn’t have the ability to just come out and tell me what he wants on the menu, I end up putting out a kind of feline smorgasboard every day. Tuna, eggs, cheese, milk, dry cat food, soft cat treats, canned cat food, i.e., and so on, et cetera, ad infinitum. Every day. For love.
He’s getting old. He is a little hard of hearing – I know this because he doesn’t come running into the kitchen like an olympic sprinter when I rev up the can opener. And the eyesight is not what is used to be, either. I am probably the only one to notice, but he just doesn’t seem to see as well. His gait is a little stiff, and getting up from a nap is taking him longer and longer. I have set up several napping areas for him (he won’t sleep in any of the cat beds I have purchased over the years and I am a firm believer that animals do not belong in people beds!), and while he will sometimes nap where he is expected to nap, he mostly decides to stretch out lengthwise in the doorway. Any doorway, as long as it is one that has a pretty good chance of being the one I will want to go through next. So, over the cat I step. For love.
He’s had a pretty good run, as runs go. He was rescued as a kitten from some neighborhood bullies. They had been playing, roughly, with a bunch of kittens and when this one bit one of the kids, the kid threw it against a garage door repeatedly. My son scooped it up and brought it home. I honestly couldn’t tell you who was crying more, my kid or the kitty. So, to make a long story short, after all the sobbing and meowing ended, there was a new addition to our little family: Gizmo. He started out as my son’s cat, but he’s mine now.
My son left the nest some years ago, but had to leave Gizmo behind. He lives about 2,000 miles away and when he calls home, I swear that darn Gizmo can hear his voice and starts meowing. My son will ask, “Is that Mr. Moose?” (his nickname for him) and asks to say hello. A few hellos and meows later, and their conversation is over. I am never quite sure what it is they talk about. Most likely “What’s the weather like?” and “How’s the fishin’?”. You know, guy stuff. I just sit and listen. Patiently. For love.