I Love Him Anyway

My husband can be a bumbling idiot at times. But, I love him for it. Last night he decided he was in dire need of reminding me just how clumsy he can be.

First, there was the “Vegas Moment.” Please get long legs, barely-there outfits, and pretty smiles out of your head. This Vegas is a very young, very skittish cat we are kittysitting for the week. I like Vegas a lot. She and I are a lot alike: shy, jumpy, neurotic, we don’t like meeting new people, and we’re kind of pretty in an awkward, quirky way…
Vegas is so shy that for the past few days I hadn’t seen her – not even a whisker. I was starting to think too much about her absence and therefore getting concerned. Not that “she-could-escape -between-our-legs-unawares-and-get-outside” concerned. This was more like the “she-could-get-sick-and-curl-up-and-die-somewhere-and-we’ll-never-find-her-body-until-she-starts-to-rot” concern. All I wanted was to see one inch of jet black fur to know she has been alive and well. One inch.
We arrived in early evening, creeping up to the door like bandits. “If we are quiet enough maybe we’ll catch her in the kitchen,” my husband cautioned. Sure enough Vegas was enjoying the kitchen table like it was her own personal pool-side lounge chair. Through the window we could see her, casual and cool, licking her fur without a care. Despite the fact she was gone in a flash as soon as we opened the door, I sighed in relief. Not dead. Not rotting somewhere. After all the chores were finished and all cats accounted for I convinced Kisa to hang out for a minute more. “Let’s watch tv. Maybe Vegas will get curious and come back out.” I was determined to bond. We settled in to watch some strange game show and sure enough, Vegas came creeping to the doorway. I felt triumphant when we locked eyes and she didn’t run. While she was startled to see us still there, she didn’t scurry away, nor did she hide her face. We coexisted for five long minutes, staring at one another. She even started to lay down, get comfortable…until my husband forget about my tenuous feline relationship and let out a deafening whoop in response to something on the idiot box. All five cats went scrambling for cover as if their lives depended on it. Panic was in the air and no one ran faster than Vegas. Kisa and I stared at each other in amazement. When the dust settled and calm was restored “ooops” was all my husband could whisper with a sheepish grin.

Later that same night we had the “Carpet Incident.” Our kitty Indiana pukes. Not often, but enough that Kisa and I have a system for such vomiting. We take turns cleaning the hairballs, unless it’s the middle of the night. We have an unspoken agreement that any after midnight puke is his puke. Once I am awake insomnia rules my mind and I can’t fall back asleep…So by default Kisa is the night hairball king. Latelatelate last night Indiana decided once was not enough and coughed up two hairballs…in two different places. Kisa stumbled out of bed swearing, groped for the rug/cat puke cleaner, sprayed the offending spots muttering, and crawled back into bed hoping that was the end of it. It wasn’t. In the morning we awoke to the sharp smell of bathroom cleaner and discovered Kisa had sprayed the carpet with bleach…

Yes, I love him anyway.

Categories: Confessional, life | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment

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