love of a special cat

My son took a seat at the couch, you at one end and he at the other. Between you both sat your cat, your preciously perfect cat. As my son angled his legs to rest his feet comfortably next him on the couch, you barked, "Get your your dirty socks off of the couch!" You barked. The cat purred. My son quietly complied.

In a way, you are right. While he had never ventured outdoors, my son had worn his socks for a better part of the day as he walked through the house. Socks being the dust-magnetics that they are, must have picked up lots of cat hair and dirt that you tracked in from outside. (This is why I continually ask that we take our shoes off at the entry way.) That last thing we need is for my son's dirty feet to add to the clumps of cat hair visibly occupying space on the couch.

Of course, I notice that your precious pet is perched next to you. Only moments earlier, I found her squatting in a rather full litter box. It is amazing at how your furry feline manages to find any particle of sand untouched by what looked to be results of a Tootsie Roll factory explosion. Yet, there she stood, adding to day's production quota in her feces’s factory. Then, using a couple of thrusts its back paws to fling bits of sand and poop over her new creation, your cat ended its toilet duties and hopped out onto an almost clean floor. I could almost follow the trail of little pieces of poop and particles of litter as she tracked to the couch and jumped up to snuggle next to you.

I, of course, remained silent after your bellow. The last time I gently alluded to the hairiness and dirt of your cherished animal, I was suddenly the bad guy and you called my words as nothing more than tit-for-tat.

Why is it you love my son, but act as though you despise his presence? Do you really love me or am I just a convenient money source for you and your possessions?

cost of love

He stood there, credit card in hand, filling out an application to help the love of his life get through some tough financial times. After being with her for several years, he found himself helping her more out of a sense of obligation than from a sense of affection. Still, even with her standing there next to him, he felt that it was important to help her regardless of his changed feelings.

It didn't help improve his love for her when she loudly said, "It says to put your name as it appears on the card. Did you do that?" His beloved’s demanding tone caused the clerk behind the counter to glance up from her paperwork and stared at him. He felt his face redden with an intense, hot blush. What was he, an idiot? In his many years of dealing with financial paperwork, did she think this was his first time answering credit card questions?

He looked at her, not believing that she had just asked such an embarrassing question and in such a condescending tone. Slowly, patiently, he slipped out of his worn wallet the credit card that he had used so often in her frequent times of need. Without saying a word, he held it in front of her face and good-naturally waited for her response. She acknowledged him with the air of a teacher grading the work of one of her duller pupils, "Oh. Ok."

After the clerk accepted the paperwork, he proceeded to pay the fees. Once again, he saved her day ... as unrewarding as it was becoming to be.

silly love

Love is such a fickle state of affairs. In the beginning, you do everything you can to give your loved one the world. In the beginning, she recognizes and truly appreciates your Herculean effort.

Then, the world isn't enough for her. Your beautiful object of your life-long affection wants the solar system as well. So off you go, doing your very best to make her happy. With your superhuman capacity fueled by your undying love, you give this love of your life her solar system.

By now, she believes that you can give her any and all of her heart’s desires -- no matter how ridiculous. When the solar system isn't enough, she wants a galaxy! With your last breath, you present her with a brilliantly beautiful galactic offering.

Only then as she demands -- not gently, sweetly requests but impatiently demands -- the universe, only then do you realize what your relationship has become. Life-draining, one-sided relationships should be the fate of a death-row prisoner's life, not the fate of your's.

How could this happen? Are you intelligent? As if Love was about intelligence. No, you missed the clues in the beginning. At first, she would softly coo, "I love you." Then, slowly, imperceptibly, these three words that first melted your heart and caused you to devote your life to your lover, these three words horribly changed from a statement of affection and became a prelude for demands. “I love you … to change some of your adorable habits." “I love you … to give up things that you enjoy doing." “I love you … never to talk about your day and always completely listen to my ramblings."

Love is a fickle state of affairs. Especially when you compare the hopes of its beginning to the realities of its end, and the unforeseen torturous twists in its middle.

So it begins ...

Sometimes, to keep the peace in a newly budding, potentially life-affirming relationship, you let the little annoyances slide. Maybe your possible life-mate didn't intend those snide comments to be on the snarky side of almost pleasantness. Perhaps those irksome actions were done out of forgetfulness.

So do I attack my partner's increased barrage of stupid words and hurtful deeds? Or do I keep silent and write down my own idiotic comebacks?

For now, it seems safe to express myself into the faceless Internet. Maybe you, my reader, will have a few words to hurl back at me. Maybe you're in the same boat. Regardless, let's see where this little experiment takes us.

In a hundred years, no one will remember this silliness. In a thousand years, who will care?