Affair of the Heart

This week’s post is brought to you by guest blogger Debbie Glovatsky, a.k.a. Glogirly, the voice behind her blogging cat, Katie.

In her blog “Glogirly:  Tails Of A Cat And Her Girl,” Katie writes of life, love and catnip with a sarcastic wit and sharp tongue. Across the globe, cats purr and humans roll their eyes as Katie offers a glimpse into her anything but ordinary cat life.  Katie shares a townhouse in Minneapolis with Glogirly and her husband Gloman (a.k.a. The Other One).

This post provides Glogirly a chance to write in her own voice for a change.

I thought we had something special.  A girl and her cat, a cat and her girl.  What could be more perfect?  Something’s just not right though.  I can smell it.

Ours was a beautiful beginning, Katie and I.  One September morning, my dog-loving, cat-skeptical husband came home with a completely unexpected anniversary gift.  He kept talking about a “kit” he was working on for my present.  Kit.  Like a gift box of car detailing products and tools perhaps?  Maybe a basket of aromatherapy spa treats?  A do-it-yourself something or another?

Having been cat-less for countless years prior to marrying a self-professed dog person, I accepted the fact that I would likely remain cat-less.  Then one Saturday while making the bed and folding towels, a tiny, blurry flash of black & white came speeding through the room like a self-guided missile.  Once it all came into focus, I was speechless.

He had in fact gotten me a kit.  A kit-ten.

Here was this wee, little kitten with the most innocent black & white face staring up at me.  He or she… I didn’t know yet, was wearing purple ribbon around its neck with a little tag that read, “Happy Anniversary.”  At this anniversary moment, it was hard to know whom to love more.

I named her Katie and we were fast friends.  She spent her first night curled up in a little ball on my chest… sleeping and purring, employing her charms.   I loved her, spoiled her and attended to her every need. With no other pets in the house, Katie had it all.  My husband though was merely a casual observer – or so I thought.

The next thing I knew, my little kitten-girl was growing up.  I woke up one day and she was a teenager.   Cuddling was no longer “cool.”  Independence was paramount.  Most of the time I had no idea where she was. The food bowl was empty and there was poop to scoop.  Proof of life, that’s all I had.

I continued to love her, spoil her and attend to her every need.  Occasionally she’d throw me a bone, so to speak.  Affection on Katie’s terms is what I call it.  Meanwhile, my husband who made his love of dogs and disdain for cats no secret began a subtle training program with Katie.  He calls himself the Cat Whisperer.

Yeah right.  You’re going to train a cat?  Fat chance.  You’re going to train KATIE?  Not a chance in… well, you know.

So while I loved, spoiled and attended to Katie’s every need, my husband did the opposite.  He ignored her when he came home from work.  If she greeted him at the door, he walked right by her until he got upstairs, grabbed a drink and sat down.  Then and only then, he’d call her over.  Affection on his terms.

If he wanted Katie to pay attention to him he’d make loud, obnoxious noises until she finally looked at him.  Then and only then, he’d tell her she was a good kitty.

He never talked to her in a sing-song kitty voice.  He talked to her like an adult.  Sometimes, using language only suitable for adults.  Still a dog person at heart, he never let her forget she was “just a cat.”    Despite the insults, Katie grew curiously fond of “The Other One.”

So while I’ve been loving, spoiling and attending to my cat’s every need, my husband has trained her not only to come when he calls, but to come running.  He’s taught her to play fetch, to stay when he’s petting her, to sit motionless while he gives her a kitty manicure and pedicure. He’s even taught her to love having her tail pulled.  Now settle down, it’s all very innocent… albeit pathetic.

The tail-pull is a whole routine they do everyday.  He calls her over, she comes running.  He holds out his hand, she puts her head under it.  He strokes her gently from her head to the tip of her tail.  He makes a silly noise when he gets to the tail part.  She does some kitty yoga to enhance the stretch of the tail-pull and walks away.  But only a few steps.  She turns around and comes back for more.  And more.  And more.  There’s conversation, mewing, tail-pull talk.  The whole performance ends with Katie on her back, begging for a tummy scratch.

Me?  I call her and she looks the other way.  I try to pet her and she runs.  I try to pick her up and she runs faster.  If she’s not paying attention and I actually snatch her up, she gives me the evil eyes and ears.  She squirms in protest.  All I ever wanted was a sweet cat friend to return my love and affection.  A furry bundle of love with a 101-degree body temperature to warm my lap.  But if I even look at her, she’s suspicious.

Well, now I’M the one that’s suspicious.  I never dreamed that infidelity would taint our happy home.  Cheating?  Never.   But as I write this, Katie and The Other One are “napping” in MY bed.

The evidence is clear.  My cat is having an affair with my husband. I better get back before innocent nap time turns into heavy petting.   Click HERE to come with me, but be prepared to shield your eyes.