The husband and I recently celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary. We did the things we do every year: we stayed the night at our favorite B & B, and gave the village our attention for the afternoon, popping in and out of various shops, and making the odd purchase. That night, we had dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, reminiscing, as we did, about memories of our early days together. It was an altogether agreeable way to spend a weekend.
By the end of the day, that Saturday, the hubs quickly drifted off to sleep, while I laid awake, thoughts churning in my head. It always takes me longer to fall asleep, and his snoring doesn’t help matters. This particular night, though, was only two days before this column was due, and it weighed on my mind. Given that I only contribute one column a month, you’d think that I would have an easy time of it, coming up with things to write about. If that were only true!
So I lay there, reviewing possible column subjects in my head, whilst the hubs’s snoring increased in intensity. I thought about the usual things: I could write about the cats, geriatric old geezers that they are. But there wasn’t anything new to tell. I could write about the dog, our lovable rescue mutt. But he hadn’t done anything remarkable lately. I thought about Bit, my ornery lease horse. He’s always doing something worth writing about, even if it’s nothing more than his throwing me off his back. But I didn’t feel like writing about him just yet. As I nudged the hubs in the ribs, though, in an attempt to quieten the increased decibels his nose was producing, I realized that the one thing I hadn’t written much about was him. Happy that I’d finally come up with a good subject for this month’s column, I rolled over and fell asleep myself.
The thing is this: the poor man had no idea what he was letting himself in for, when he married me. Indeed, he was so blinded by my fabulosity that I don’t believe he gave much thought at all to any of the obvious negatives, such as the fact that I’m adamantly opposed to cleaning house (the dust always comes back, so why bother?), as well as cooking (I don’t actually like most foods, so why cook them?), not to mention that pesky habit of mine in which I try to do animals a good turn, often without forethought of the consequences (so I shouldn’t have been feeding those house mice; who knew that all of their extended families would take up residence as well?). It was only after the fact, when the number of animals in and around Critter Cottage began to multiply, that he realized what he’d married. And then the bloom was off the rose!
The thing he took the biggest exception to was the fact that the animals needs came before his. Imagine his indignation when I admonished him to “stop lurching about” while the cats – all five of them – were trying to eat their kibble.
“I’m not lurching,” he answered in irritation. “And anyway, they’re just cats.”
I tittered as I shook my head at him. “Oh, no, no, no!” I said. “That was the completely wrong thing to say to a Critter Lady! Go to jail. Go directly to jail. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred quid!”
He looked at me in astonishment. “So the animals are more important than I am?”
I knew I was treading on thin ice, here, but I said it anyway: “You have opposable thumbs. They don’t.”
At that point, he stomped off in disbelief. It would not be the last conversation of its kind. In spite of all that, though, I must say that he comes through when I need him to. Did he swear up a storm whilst building the pen for the ducks he didn’t want me to bring home? Yes, but he built a fine pen nonetheless, and it’s kept the ducks safe and warm through all sorts of horrible weather for five years, now.
Did he complain about the expense of having my favorite duck, Ethel, cremated after she died? Only a tiny bit, and he let me do it anyway. Ethel’s remains have sat on a shelf in my office ever since.
Does he complain all those times I make him buy new things for Bit – a horse we don’t even own? Very loudly, but he buys them anyway because he knows it will make me happy.
Did he grumble about all the money I spent on getting my beloved cat Junebug tested to figure out what was making her ill? Yes, but we had the tests done anyway because she was my girl and he knew better than to argue with me.
All of which explains why, when he continued to make noises about how glad he’d be when there were no more animals in residence, I let him believe for quite some time that that would actually happen. It was only a few weeks ago, when he commented yet again that it would be a great day indeed when we wouldn’t have to schedule our holidays around when the cat and duck sitter was available, or incur the expense of boarding the dog, that I felt compelled to burst his bubble.
“Honey,” I began gently, “I hate to have to tell you this, but there will always be an animal here!”
Evidently, he’d already figured that out. “O.k.,” he replied, “just not so many, please!” Fair enough.
Until next time, please be kind to all the critters. And your spouse, too – the one person who agreed to put up with your foibles for better or for worse!
