Cat Fancy

It’s strange how tastes change.  Growing up I was very involved in the world of cats. Anytime I would see a fluffy furry face, I would shriek with delight. "Oh so cute! I could just squeeze it!" 

I had shelves of tiny glass kittens in different styles and colors.  I even had the wallpaper and matching cat pillow in my bedroom.  Each stray I found in the neighborhood would be gently placed in the garage in the hopes my mother would let it join the previous collected pack and--feed it.

Each month as a kid, a shiny crispy volume of "Cat Fancy" would arrive in the mail--complete with a centerfold, which would feature a unique cat, (probably found in the back alley’s of Detroit) This special cat would pose in different positions--each with a unique colored background.  

Through my monthly browsing I found that Siamese cats did nothing for me, but throw a few fluffy white kittens together on a blue background and it was definitely going up on the wall.

It was only until I moved away to college and then eventually came back home, that I discovered my tastes had changed.  No longer was the blue and pink cat wallpaper appropriate, it was down right scary to any male friend that I felt inclined to bring into my bedroom.  I also found that I had cat-fur induced-asthma. Cats were now the enemy.  My eyes swell up, I break out in hives, and I sound like  Darth Vader.  I think any date would take the wallpaper over my allergies. 

In the dating world, I would scroll through numerous profiles, pausing on the perfect gentleman, reading the tagline "Kind and funny, looking for the perfect partner to complete my life". Then I would scroll further and read "cat" or  “Meet Toasty my cat” and a picture of the furry creature playing with a sock.  This true love was over before it begun.   

One evening I attended a fortieth birthday party where we drink and bar hopped through the streets.  We eventually landed at the Beerhive, home of an authentic pub.  We sat in the back so people wouldn’t hear us carry on.  One of my drunken friends stumbled over to a group of men, pointing out a white sport jacket that one of them was wearing in order to ridicule it.  I quickly intervened, not wanting any bar fight to break out, but I had always secretly dreamed of witnessing one.  

Walking over I introduced myself to the group and apologized for my friend.  One of the gentlemen laughed and started asking me about what had brought us to the bar.  His name was Nate.  He had all the credentials—the job, the location, hair, and it appeared that he flossed his teeth.  Being in my mid-thirties and in Utah, I couldn’t be too choosey.

Weeks later after meeting at the bar he finally invited me over to his house.  We had a nice dinner of pear salad, salmon, and bread and a smooth glass of white wine.  He escorted me into the bedroom, kissing me.  He turned on the light and quickly turned it off, telling me it would be more romantic.

 

We messed around and then, Nate excused himself to the bathroom to get ready for bed.  I tried searching for my glasses, to no avail, so I switched on the lamp next to the bed.  I glanced around the room admiring his taste of Master Craftsman wood molding, and neutrally painted walls, with an eclectic mix of lamps on both sides of the bed.  The neutral walls were complimented with a light beige carpet.  I glanced down and noticed a dark spot.  I tried to focus my eyes in the light.  I leaned over the bed to get a closer look.  I realized it was a pile of turds.  I quickly sat up.  Just then a cat slinked into the room through a cat door.  Nate had not mentioned he had a cat, and then another one slinked through the door. Shit.  Two cats.  

I felt betrayed, that he had lied to me through sheer omission.  Hiding two illegimate children, maybe, but cats….that was a no.

The bathroom door opened and Nate strolled out to his dresser, passing the pile the turd.  He paid no attention as he grabbed a nightshirt out of the drawer.  I felt like I needed to clear my throat to somehow bring his attention to it.  He backed away, lifting the shirt over his head, his foot inches from it.  My heart stopped. 

He walked around it and then bent over to pet one of the cats.  I thought surely he would notice the turd then.  Nate quickly hoped into the bed and pulled the covers up.  “Well, good night.  I’m glad you are staying over.”  As he reached to switch off the lamp. I said, “Stop, I need to brush my teeth”.  I went into the bathroom, brushing my teeth, the feeling of knowing the turd would be resting next to me all night, I knew I needed to act. 

Rinsing, I unrolled a few square of toilet paper.  I whipped open the door, and made an obvious sweeping motion as I picked up the turd, turned and dropped it into the toilet.  I washed my hands and as I hope back into bed.  I received no thanks or sigh of relief.  Just a kiss and the switch of the light.

Having a week to rationalize, I decided to give Nate a second chance. Maybe it was just an accident, or I could possibly just pick up any turds.  I was getting desperate.  

I had envisioned inviting friends over to his beautifully decorated house, laughing and introducing them all to my new boyfriend.  This dream deserved a second chance.

The next week, when he asked me to stay the night again, he coaxed me back into his bedroom and left the light off.  We lay there afterwards, and my eyes adjusted to the dark.  I could see a few dark silhouettes around the edges of the room; he must have same feet and had left small dark socks in the corner?  Or maybe dark lint had collected, but deep in my heart I knew.  It was a turd, more turds in fact, they had multiplied.  As we lay there, the cool breeze hit my back, I had never been over to his house when the windows were closed, and my nose had mistaken the old musty house smell in place of cat urine.  As John turned over, I thought of what I could say to help him or bring to light the unacceptable nature of the business all over his carpet.  How do you broach a topic of poop?  Should it be serious in nature, or more light-hearted?  A casual mention or a main topic.  A sit down intervention.  I decided to go with the passive approach of a light-hearted mention.  

As he stirred and cuddled I said, “ Nate your cats are not very nice to you” 

He mumbled, what do you mean?

“Well they seem to like to poop and pee on your carpet”. I said in a high voice, almost with a smile.

“Those bastards!” He laughed and rolled over.

“I guess I could make more of an effort to clean when you come over.”  He stated.

I thought, so this is more about a level of cleaning.  So this was a regular occurrence? 

I knew I couldn’t see Nate again.  I didn’t know how to break up with him, take him out for a slice of Mud Pie and break the news, or not return his calls. 

When discussing the problem with my siblings, I explained that he was a rare catch and that surely with the poop issue we could find a compromise.  They agreed it would be a deal-breaker, but they could sense my desperation, so they told me to deal with it in a direct, no-nonsense manner.  And to look on the bright side--Nate would be excellent when it came to dealing with any future dirty diapers and a baby. 

A sit down chat.  As I picked up the phone to set a meeting time, I realized I was not adept to have this conversation, nor did I want to, I knew I reached my limit.  And I thought, as a parting gift and to soften the blow of the break up, I could send him my old collection of Cat Fancy.