I think I have two wives. There’s the woman I wed in a Palo Alto church 36 years ago. Then there’s the one I’ve had a relationship with for over 14 years … with Lucy. Both relationships make my life vibrant and happy, but it’s complicated. What Lucy and I have is a “mixed marriage” – cat and human.
You could say Lucy is a “cougar.” After all, she’s older than I am, at least in “cat years.” For her age, she’s in great shape – slim and attractive, with a walk that reeks of femininity. She’s a blotchy black, orange and white long-haired calico that looks like something out of a paint-by-numbers kit.
Our family adopted Lucy from a shelter as a kitten. For a time, she treated us all the same. However, over time, Lucy came to favor me over my daughters and two-legged wife. Eventually, it became apparent that she was smitten and considered me her one-and-only.
Lucy tolerates my two-legged wife without any apparent jealousy. There are no “Fatal Attraction” scenes playing out. She’s too aloof and confident for that. By all appearances, Lucy accepts my “polygamy” as normal and culturally acceptable for a cat’s partner.
In our South Los Altos neighborhood, Lucy is well known for going on leash-less walks with me and my two-legged wife. Often, we encounter neighbors walking dogs who wag up to me to be petted. Lucy looks on stoically and turns a blind eye to my “affairs.” Just standing by her man and accepting his dalliances.
After evening walks, Lucy stares at my two-legged wife, wanting to be fed. If she doesn’t respond, Lucy will invoke the nuclear option – clawing the furniture. Avoiding a “cat fight,” my annoyed two-legged wife stops what she’s doing and feeds Lucy. Afterward, Lucy jumps on my lap and looks up at me adoringly in what my two-legged wife calls Lucy’s “Nancy Reagan gaze.”
Lucy demands a lot of attention. You might say she’s a FAP – Feline American Princess. She’s both needy and indecisive: let me out, let me in, let me back out, wrong door, wrong door again, I guess this one will do, let me in again, pick me up, why’d you pick me up, put me down, pet me, not like that, … Each demand is a nagging yowl. Think Roseann Barr’s voice, but as cat profanity.
Like all couples, we have occasional tiffs. And like some men, often I don’t have a clue what I did to cause her ire. One minute she’ll purr like a Ferrari and the next, she’ll bare her claws and draw blood. It’s the reason my friend calls her Lucifer, rather than Lucy.
She and I are on the “back nine” of our existence. For me, it’s a golf analogy; for her, it’s a nod to the number of lives she’s been allotted.
I don’t know if Lucy believes in the afterlife, but I do. If all dogs go to heaven, Lucy makes the cut, too. After all, she goes on walks. She’ll be sitting next to Saint Peter, ignoring his attempts to befriend her and giving him an occasional unprovoked swipe. She’ll wait patiently for me to arrive so that she can jump on my lap, gaze up at me for approval and wait for me to start petting her.
For now, though, we’re two souls whose lives came together without a pickup line. We’ll continue to enjoy our time together as a content twosome, sometimes lazing on a bench and listening to the birds singing our song. Till death do us part.
Hacker, of Los Altos, is a former technical writer at NASA Ames and a Hope’s Corner volunteer and board member.
