The Midlife

Leaving the scene of a potential cat crime.

I’ve always hated cats. Something about those mischievous buttholes has always sparked fear in me. Every scary movie seems to have a black cat lurking and waiting to insight harm. And that is why I have never owned one.

I’m a proud dog mama. I grew up with dogs in my childhood home, and as a young adult living on my own I have owned various dogs. My preference, as a full-time working person in an office setting, is to own two dogs at a time, so they aren’t lonely. I’ve loved and ushered two of my beloved canines to the rainbow bridge. I watched them grow from early puppy breath to the less desirable kind in old age. I’ve doted on them for vet appointments, favorite treats, and countless long walks. I love how dogs need their humans in such a warm-hearted way. And being partial to dachshunds, they are in a needy and clingy class by themselves. My life was always canine-complete.

Until… I met a certified (or is it certifiable?) cat daddy. (I write this today on our 13th wedding anniversary!) When my husband and I were dating, I knew I was entering a relationship with a man who referred to his cat as his best friend. Ghostface Killah, his beloved tuxedo cat he raised since age 19, would put me in second place as my husband’s favorite until our daughter was born. The order then became: Ghostface, followed by Geli, then me. I knew my place and even grew to have affection for Ghostface until he passed at age 19.

When we discovered our daughter was severely allergic to cats (and to a much lesser degree, dogs), my husband and I vowed to not get another cat. And while that upset him and my daughter who fiercely wanted another, risks be damned, we agreed to not break this rule.

Until… fast forward to this spring. My daughter is 10 and living with some school anxiety. My dumb-butt knew a cat would solve everything. OK, not everything. But I knew deep in my heart and in my constant quest to make my daughter (and husband) happy, I made the suggestion over dinner.

“Maybe we should get a cat,” I proposed. “But during the summer so it can get acclimated and after we return from vacation.”

I was met with shock and disbelief. My husband and daughter looked at me like I had lost my mind. And maybe that is what parenting and spousing does to a person. Despite your greater judgment, you are willing to do whatever it takes to bring light and love to those that are nearest and dearest to you.

Carson, in one of his peaceful, non-destructive moments.

Now, you will find this completely difficult to believe, but following my cat proposal, we did not wait until summer to get Carson, our international cat man of mischief. It was before school ended. We adopted him from a local animal control center; he had been brought there with his two feline siblings after their owners had a baby.

He’s three years old, with the most beautiful tiger eyes you’ve ever seen. My daughter’s art supplies are in constant peril, as he scatters them about with not even the meekest shred of guilt. For example, pulling out the couch to sweep the floor becomes a guessing game of how many markers or pencils are beneath. Last count? 15.

I want to hate him, but I can’t. His upper eyelid skin always is so light and visible, it looks like he’s staring at me with wet, glistening eyes. I immediately started playing with him and laughing at his funny ways. He has even lain in my lap for five minutes straight, and once you have experienced something like this, you are forever changed.

However, it’s not all love. I hate dealing with a litter box. The fact that Carson peed in my daughter’s bed while we were on vacation (despite a careful cat sitter) nearly had him back at the shelter. He meow-moans at our bedroom doors every night, making me question my choices and judgment. Every day and night.