On the way into Indy to spend the next couple of days with friends and family, our son asked me to start telling him funny cat stories. I’m not sure if it’s the stories about the cats he finds funny, or if he likes my style of storytelling, but his favorite, which I had to repeat several times over, was the tale of the kitten chasing her own tail in the bathtub (which is of course somewhat slippery), catching it in her front paws and yanking, and falling over on her side as she knocked herself off her own feet. Much harder to balance on two feet than four, I guess.
So the conversation got onto whether the cats think they’re people with fur, or that I’m a cat without claws. My beloved husband opined that indeed I was a cat, and that I do in fact have claws. “Not the kind that catch mice” was my response, in reference to cat-standards.
My husband gave me a rather wry sideways look and responded “And small comfort that is to your prey.” I thought about that for a few minutes. “I don’t think I’ve sharpened them on you…I can’t remember doing it.” “No” quoth he “but I’ve seen the results, and they weren’t pretty.” That got him a grin.
It’s lovely to have a husband who knows me so well. And on this Thanksgiving Day, along with the more usual things like my son’s expressiveness and intelligence, and our solvency, and the continuing health of myself and those whom I love, and some of the best, most wonderful friends any person could have, I am thankful indeed for a husband who both knows I have claws and hasn’t put off by it in the 20+ years we’ve been together.