My Wife the Cat

My wife is like a cat.

I've been noticing more of her feline tendencies lately.

She can see in the dark.  It's amazing.  We'll get home after sunset with arms full of groceries (milk, tuna, etc.).  There won't be any lights on, and she can walk down the hall, through the dining room and into the kitchen without missing a step or bumping a wall.  I can't make it through the door without falling on my face.

If I'm writing, she'll wander in to the office and sit in my lap...like a cat.  "Would you rub my back?"  Just like a cat.

Or when we're watching a movie, for instance.  She'll cozy down in a blanket, or three...like a cat.

The other night she got home from work late in the evening and immediately started cleaning.

You know who else cleans compulsively?

Cats.

Cats, while compulsive cleaners, shed hair at an alarming rate.  My wife has lost so much hair in our bathroom we could start our own clothing line.  Or make toupees for my dad.

I may be wrong, of course.  I could be reading too much into this.  My wife hasn't thrown up in my shoes or clawed the curtains in quite some time.

But she did just ask me for a foot rub.


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