Inspired by Memphis Steve's blog, I have decided to dedicate a post to my wonderful cat husband, Sea Monkey.
Though he hasn't done anything interesting lately, like lock himself in the bathroom (as Steve's cat, Sponge Bob Stinkypants, did), and he doesn't pee in the toilet unprompted like my late cat Pidgeon, Sea Monkey and I have a very special relationship and I think it deserves mention here.
See, my cat is in love with me.
I'm reasonably sure that Sea Monkey doesn't realize he's a cat. Actually, I know it. The way he looks at me with those doleful eyes as I leave in the morning for work, the way he crawls up by my head when I'm sleeping and buries his face in my hair and watches me with the tenderness of a stalker as I sleep, the way he glares with pure hatred at any man who comes into my apartment and dares snuggle me on my couch, I just know it. The cat wants my body.
I think it all started when he was a tiny kitten and we got him from the North Shore Animal League. He had intestinal parasites and was on heavy antibiotics which made him catatonic and probably kind of trippy/confused. Still, Lily said, "That one, that's the one I want," and so Sea Monkey was ours. I thought he was the lamest kitten ever. He slept all the time and looked like he'd maybe suffered brain damage. He never meowed (still doesn't...he opens his mouth and releases tiny squeaks, but that's it). As soon as we got him home he skedaddled away from us and found his way up inside the heating vent, where he stayed for three days. Thank goodness it was summer. When I finally figured out where he was, it was I who stuck my arms all the way up inside the vent to pull him out, suffering scratches and exposure to mouse feces and dead roaches and god knows what else. Then it was I who smothered Sea Monkey with snuggles and kisses and wouldn't let him get away from me for the next 24hours, as I had no desire to repeat this daring rescue.
Thus began our passion-filled story of love. He was a one-woman cat from then on. Poor Lily. She's tried to sneak her way into the tight circle of adulation between Sea Monkey and me, but he really doesn't give a crap about her. He tolerates her "grooming" him with a doll brush, and sometimes will even humor her with a half-hearted bat at the toy mouse she dangles in front of his face as she tries to engage him in play. He just isn't into anything that isn't me.
There really is nothing like coming home to a hairy man who loves you unconditionally, lays in your lap for hours on end, and doesn't ever speak. Oh, pure heaven.