My husband happens to be the funniest man I know. Depending upon my mood o’ the day, he can have me bent over with laughter, or bent…..period. This morning, while getting ready to hike, he passed by me in the kitchen:
“You can tell Miss CatShit Boots that she’s walking on thin ice……her days are numbered…..,” he (half jokingly) announced.
My poor husband has been a beleaguered victim of felines for 26 years. He loves cats, don’t get me wrong…he loves animals, period. But he has no patience for their loud roars of protest over not being fed for five minutes. His feelings are hurt when they snub him and run like they have seen the Tasmanian Devil himself……..and they have their reasons, about a million of them.
Shortly after we were first married, I snuck a cat into our pet-free home. I decided to tell him about Tajia when he was sleeping, just in case…..knowing he told me NO INDOOR ANIMALS, I was caught up in a struggle between the adorable kitten at the Humane Society, and, well, my marriage. Dwain was smitten, and we both loved her beyond reason. She was fur and myrrh and everything cat-and Dwain had a questionable habit of scaring the life force out of her. I remember one time, he lay in wait for more than fifteen minutes- Tajia had no idea he was behind her, waiting for the perfect time to pounce. Just as I began walking away from the crime scene, he made his move-that poor cat jumped ten feet into the air, and whilst up there did a complete 360 and ran for the laundry room. If you were a cat, you would have run too. He laughed for hours……….but the cat never forgot this, and she had a few tricks up her own paws…….just for Dwain.
It was about ten in the evening, whilst watching ‘In Living Color’ and eating an ice cream sandwich (don’t ask me how I remember these details, as I can’t remember things like, say-my car being in reverse after backing up for an 18 wheeler, and the ensuing nightmare that followed when I backed into a crazy lady in a pink Cadillac) I must preface this tale by telling you that Tajia was pure black, with a white freckle on her nose. My husband is Pennsylvania Dutch, and very, very thrifty when it comes to electricity. This is what I heard from the living room:
“Ho-ohah!!!! What the F***, and then, thump, thump, thump, thump…….thump, followed by REOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW and finally, silence.
I knew only that my husband had fallen down the stairs. Because I have the Elkins blood, I am prone to laughing at others’ calamities….and I remember falling off the couch, sideways, ice cream in hand-and laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. My poor man, my boobelai…….he could be seriously hurt. And it turns out, he was. The following is my husband’s version of the incident:
I turned the hallway light off (peculiar habit, as we have steep farmhouse stairs, at the time covered in shag carpet-I myself would have turned the light ON, but hey, whatever floats your boat) and when I took my first step I felt fur, so, to avoid hurting the cat, I overstepped. Honey, I rode that cat the whole way down the stairs…….is she okay?
Tajia was, indeed, no worse for the wear. Her tail was fluffed up like a skunk’s, and her eyes as big as saucers. Dwain walked like a duck for weeks, brush burns and bruises…and every time I saw him I broke into hysterics-for months. I told this story around a camp fire in Potter County one Fall, to eager ears and felonious hysteria. But this time, Dwain gave me the icing on the cupcake……
“That poor cat thinks I tried to shove her up my ass on purpose. She won’t even look at me.”
And with that line, we roasted my husband……don’t ever change Charlie……..Don’t you dare.