The Things I Do For Love

Ginny did not have any idea of where we were driving. I’d made all the arrangements and kept all secret from her.

I told her to trust me implicitly and to wear the shirt I picked out of her closet.

We’ve been in a bit of a rut recently and I wanted to thrill and delight her, to bring joy and light into her dull, drab existence.

But, for this post to make any sense, you need to understand that I am NOT a cat person.

That means that when I go into a room where there are eight or ten cat lovers all calling “Here, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty”, the cat will ignore all of them with distain and jump into my lap and purr.

I’ll gently shove the filthy varmint onto the floor. The cat lovers will all Ooh and Aah, and the creature will glare at them with hate and climb into my lap again.

While the serpent may be the most subtle of all beasts of the field, the cat is surely the most perverse.

But in spite of that, I took Ginny to a Cat Show – which she did not know was in town. I think it made her happy:

The place swarmed with cats and cat lovers:

I was reminded of the Wanda Gag poem:

Cats here.
Cats there.
Cats and Kittens everywhere.
Hundreds of cats.
Thousands of cats.
Millions and billions and trillions of cats!

When I paid the fine and went into the place, they stamped my hand with the mark of the beast:

Ginny went around cages actually touching cats. Live ones:

I endured.

The cat people at this show acted so intense. Indistinguishable cats were being given ribbons for some reason and the owners acted as though they were competing in the Olympics. Some owners were actually swilling Gatorade to calm their jitters about the judging.

Ginny appeared enthralled and charmed by the show; she didn’t even balk at my many clever, witty jokes involving never having seen so much pussy in one place before.

She tolerates me.

I love her.

I took her to a cat show.

Ah, the things I do for love.