Other things prompt memories here and there, like replacing the toilet roll and a tomato ripening on the windowsill. Both of those items caused violent outbursts in the ex – if I didn’t put the toilet paper on the “correct” way, or if the tomato got too ripe.
But tonight’s memory is amusing to me, rather than frightening. I bought myself a cat in our first year of marriage, so I could have someone to keep me company while TEO scoured his pornography collection.
Not to interrupt the story, but here’s how habitual liars operate. They take a gullible subject (me), and tell a little bit of truth (all guys look at porn) while leaving out the important information (just not from dinnertime to bedtime each night, every night while married to a hot, eager to please 22-year-old woman.)
Anyway. The cat. I would play with the cat every night while TEO looked at the same porn images over and over again. (This was in the Internet’s infancy.) The cat and I grew very fond of each other, since we actually had more of a relationship than, well, you know who.
Plus, the cat was smarter than me. He would constantly relieve himself in TEO’s underwear drawer. Liquids and solids.
TEO would change where the underwear was kept. Kitty would find it anyway.
Don’t let anyone tell you that cats have no loyalty to their owners, because they do. After I left the bastard, the cat never evacuated outside of his litter box. Ever. He was clearly sending a message.
