***
Let me start by saying that the cat and I have a long history together, and it is NOT pretty. We have absolutely no use for each other, yet somehow we manage to co-exist, but just barely.
My wife, on the other hand, LOVES the kitty, and she spoils her rotten. I should be so lucky.
In my opinion, the cat is a useless slug that just lies around, eating, sleeping, and not contributing to the household in any meaningful way. Strangely enough, that is exactly how my bride describes ME. She claims that both me and the kitty are constantly cranky, and we both like to scratch and spit. However, she is quick to point out that I shed worse than the cat. (It’s not my fault. Baldness runs in my family. Along with huge noses and big ears.)
My latest run-in with the bellicose beast (I’m talking about the pet, not my spouse) happened yesterday evening. My wife was sitting on the end of the couch, snuggled under a beautiful quilt she’d made, when I walked in and decided to sit down next to her. Unfortunately, because the lumpy quilt was spread out in every direction, I had no idea THE CAT was underneath it, snoozing next to my bride.
Before my spouse could stop me, I mindlessly plopped down, and inadvertently, sat on the tail of the always cantankerous critter, scaring BOTH ME AND THE CREATURE half to death! (She has nine lives, but I’ve only got one.)
The furious feline instantly let loose with an ear-piercing screech, shot out from under the quilt, and became a furry, fuzzy blur as she streaked through the pet door at a breathtaking speed she could only attain when fueled by indignant rage.
At the same time, I shot straight up like a helicopter! While levitating in mid-air, I’m sure my heart stopped for several seconds before I landed back on the couch with a heavy thump, gasping for breath.
I swear that cat is going to be the death of me.
Slowly, my wife turned, fixed me with an icy stare, and said, “No wonder the kitty doesn’t like you.”
“Well, the feeling is mutual! I almost had a heart attack!”
“It was YOUR fault. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I didn’t know the cat was there.”
“Don’t lie.”
Having grave doubts that my bride would’ve called 911 if my heart hadn’t restarted, I declared, “If I were going to lie, I’d come up with something better than that. You know I’ve had plenty of practice not telling the truth.” In hindsight, that probably wasn’t my best defense, but my spouse had to admit I was right.
Shaking her head, she replied, “Be honest. You have never cared for the kitty.”
I couldn’t deny it, so I countered, “That has nothing to do with it. How was I supposed to know one of those lumps was a cat?”
“You’re always making excuses.”
She was right again. (Which is incredibly irritating.) I have to make excuses because I’m constantly in trouble, and it’s usually my fault. Okay. Actually, it’s always my fault. But THIS TIME, it was an honest mistake.
My wife stood up and looked at me with disgust. “I’m going outside to see if I can find the poor baby. I just hope you didn’t do any permanent damage.”
“Are you kidding? The way she flew out that pet door, she couldn’t have been hurt too bad. The last time I saw her move that fast was when I–well, never mind.”
“That’s right! You’re always doing something to that poor helpless animal.”
One of the hallmarks of our marriage is the way I open my mouth and make a bad situation worse. It is a gift I wish I didn’t possess.
Anyway, from that moment on, whenever my bride had a quilt spread out, I was banned from sitting on the couch. Yet one more personal freedom forever lost within the bonds of holy matrimony, as the love of my life, once again, chose the kitty over me.
I hate that stupid cat.
Marital Madness 