The Other Woman

There are some subjects that are just not easy to discuss. In this case, I have been in denial about it for a long time, but must finally acknowledge and discuss an issue that may make some of you, as it does me, a little uncomfortable: there is another woman in my boyfriend's life. Yes, it's true: he's a Cat Owner (although I take issue with the phrase itself: no one owns a cat; if anything, the owners are owned by their cats.) When I first discovered this, I was wary. A man who owns a cat? It's practically unnatural! But, given my relationship with my dog, I felt it would be hypocritical to judge him for his cat situation. Therefore, I have accepted this other woman in his life (yes, even worse, it's a female cat) and have chosen to take this as an opportunity to learn something about this Cat and her man.

In the pictures I have seen (we've not met, and that is probably best: cats are jealous types, and from what I've heard, this one sounds especially temperamental) she is a pretty little thing. She's a petite brunette, with big green eyes, and although she is getting a little older, I happen to know that this doesn't bother my dearest a bit. If she misses a jump to the counter and falls, he checks to make sure that she hasn't broken a hip or anything. She hates for him to see her be ungraceful, though. He is a gentleman and will pretend that he didn't see her miss, as long as she doesn't seem to be hurt. She will flick her tail as she walks away, acting as though there was a very good reason that she didn't want to get on the counter in the first place.

She eats like a princess, getting a mix of her favorite canned and dry foods. She never has to eat leftovers, either. He makes sure that the canned stuff is moist, and if not, it gets thrown out. If he has a treat that pleases her palate, she is sure to get part of it. She doesn't even have to beg, like other, less dignified kitties. She merely sits patiently by his side, and he will share bites with her until the last, and that one is always hers. She seems to know this, and doesn't hesitate to take the last morsel.
All is not peace and tranquility in this man/feline paradise, however. As sweetly as she may behave, there is generally a motivation behind her actions. She prefers to get his attention by using his computer screen to backlight and accentuate the fluffiness of her tail. Computer time is work time (I, personally, do not fluff my tail in front of him while he is trying to work. He doesn't appreciate it from either of us.) Her sincerity in curling up in his lap to watch the baseball game with him is questionable as well. She knows full well that game time is snack time, too. Cuddling is not what she is seeking, but hopefully some chip crumbs, maybe even with a little dip, and, if there's a jackpot, a nibble of a hot dog, too.

I remember a period of days when these two were not speaking to each other, as a matter of fact. She had interrupted a very important task in the office, and caused an upset of items on the desk, and her dearest to lose important information on the computer, as she, the desk items, and a drink all went crashing to the floor. There was shouting, she stormed from the room in disgust, the door slamming behind her, and she was not allowed back in that night. Shocked, I think, at being locked out of her beloved's company all evening, she did what any woman would do: she pouted. When he emerged, finally, he was still fuming from having to rebuild the work he had begun and stalked past her. Stubbornly refusing to make up, she turned tail and went off to her own bed to sulk. This cold war went on for a few days, until, I believe, the weekend, and game time, when a few dip laden chips and a piece of hot dog brought her back to his lap. She, like any proud woman, waited for him to make the peace offering and then she accepted it gracefully.

He has learned to accept her moods, and predict them fairly well. When they each had a bracket for March Madness last year, and did a little online betting, hers did quite a bit better than his. He was prepared for her to gloat, and she did. Of course, he still got all the money, but he was sure that she was laughing at him anyway, for his having picked the poorer teams. When he showers her with affection and she gets impatient and walks away, he just shrugs and accepts that she has gotten irritated with him and knows that she'll come back, the next time she wants something.

Having this other woman to hear about over the years has been entertaining and educational. I have, without having ever met her, learned to understand her and her relationship with my man (our man?). I know, thanks to her, that he is incredibly patient, loving, kind and gentle, and is no fool. He needs his space when working, likes to watch the game with a friend, and will share his last crumb, literally. His trust has to be earned, and he knows when he is being used. He values companionship when offered sincerely, and knows how to cherish those who come to him with an open heart and not an open hand. I am grateful to the cat that showed perhaps the worst parts of herself, but the best parts about her man.

Valentines, Chocolate, and Bullets

Writing about Valentine's Day is the Russian Roulette of essay writing. Either you spin the chamber and luck out: no bullet. You are having a good year, and romance isn't going to make you want to blow your brains out. Or, of course, there's the alternative. Ka-blam! You just never know from year to year do you? And for you married folks, I apologize. I know that you've taken these vows about death parting ya'll and everything. But being a divorced mother of four, whose hubby left her ON Valentine's Day, well I am just not too sold on the exchanging of rings and vows being much of a safety net.

However, that's not to say that this is a bullet-in-the-chamber year, either. I have taken the yearly spin and fortunately come up empty. I am not, though, going to go all "Love is a many splendored thing," on ya'll, either. What I am wondering about, as I stare down another Valentine's Day's barrel, is: why all the chocolate? Yep. It always comes down to food, basically, doesn't it?

On the bullet years, chocolate makes perfect sense. That is to say, when there's no love to be had, I'm all about the candy. The first year sans hubby, I bought myself the biggest red velvet, heart-shaped box of chocolates I could find, wrote "To The Love of My Life" on the little card that came included with it, and gave it to myself. I ate every last one of those bad boys, and they were awesome. I knew what I liked, so had made sure to get the kinds that were mostly nuts & chews, and only a few of the weird creamy ones that can have odd flavors. I even allowed myself to take bites out of them first to check what they were, put back the ones that weren't my favorites, and saved the bitten ones for emergency purposes. That was a great box of chocolates.

The next year, an "unloaded year," I happened to be casually dating someone (ok, we had been out once or twice). You can probably guess what I did. Yep. I waited. It seems like we turn the V-Day into some kind of litmus test for relationships (I have always wanted to use the word litmus in a sentence, ever since I got a C in high school Chem. Class. I feel so much better now.) Anyway, I did that thing where we girls think, "If he is worth anything, he will call/send flowers/make a date/propose," depending on the length of the relationship, "because it's Valentine's Day." And then if his actions don't meet with expectations, BAM! We are back to bullet in the chamber status pretty quickly and the guy is history. Why? Because he is obviously "Not the one." But if he had failed to call, send flowers, make a date, or * heaven forbid * propose on any other day, it wouldn't have been any big deal, right? Well, you can guess what happened with the guy I was seeing. No call. Back to the bullet.

This all really doesn't answer the truly important question though, does it? Why chocolate? I think I know, though. Because Valentine's Day is mostly about women being miserable. Either we are miserable because we have someone, and he is clueless about what to do on this stupid day, or we don't have someone, and we are miserable because*well, we don't have someone. And either way, eating some chocolate is usually the way that women approach misery. It actually makes a lot of sense. This is why I had a great time the year that I just cut out the middle-man (so to speak) and gave myself the chocolates.

Men would probably be better off if they would just defensively buy chocolates and carry them around like emotional Kevlar throughout February. They could just keep heart shaped boxes of varying sizes: small ones, for daughters and neighbors; medium sized ones for mothers, the boss-if appropriate-, and maybe a new girlfriend that could appear on the scene*assuming the man is single of course, and the one mammoth, red velvet number. This would be reserved for that special moment...when he has totally forgotten Valentine's Day entirely and arrives home to find the wife (or girlfriend*fill in the blank accordingly) in tears, no dinner plans made, and his jammies and pillow have already been moved out to the doghouse (whether or not he was previously a dog owner). He can run out to the car, grab this lifesaving device, and proceed to buy some time while he announces that he is headed to the store to buy steaks and lobster fresh from the butcher, will be cooking AND doing the dishes, and the Love of His Life should be taking her bubble bath and enjoying some of those chocolates while he takes care of everything. Not to toot my own tuba too greatly, but I think everyone would be a lot happier with this plan, and we would be a few steps closer world peace. Ok, maybe not world peace. But there would be some chocolate for the girls and the guys would stay outta the doghouse.