A nice way to live
I read Sunday's article "Of cats and men" with a chuckle of recognition. When my husband of some 57 years asked me to marry him, I said "yes." We hugged, kissed, sighed contentment. He then made a simple statement: not a suggestion, not a request. He said, "We will always have cats." With all of the wisdom of a 20-year old, I said, "OK."
We did indeed always have cats, the first one in a one-room basement apartment with entrance by ducking under the owner's spidery back porch. And cat-arrival quite without permission of upstairs owner. (Nobody seemed to mind much.)
Other homes, next one a two-room upstairs "suite" in a farmhouse; next a small two-bedroom ranch in the 'burbs; and finally a three-bedroom ranch on an acre just west of the 'burbs: our lasting home of some 50 years. Each home gracefully inhabited by one or more cats.
My husband died three years ago, his final hours accompanied by family, of course. And a cat curled up by his side.
"Of Cats and Men." Yep, been there. A kind of nice way to live.