A Musing On Cats And Marriage

I took two photos today and both of them were of Maurice. I spent most of the day in town and I don't think y'all need a picture of Costco. Or Publix. Or even Oak Tree Treasures, as lovely as it is. 

I have no idea what Maurice was examining there but it must have been some sort of little critter. 

I was thinking the other day about Maurice bringing me mice and other delectable meat treats and it occurred to me that I get so excited when I think the crows have brought me a gift of any sort but when Maurice brings me something my reaction is invariably, "Dammit, Maurice! What the fucking fuck?" 
And that's so wrong. 
That cat went out and hunted with forethought. She wanted to catch something to give to me which she did. She then brought it into the house or on the porch, leaving it where she knows I'll come across it because she is more familiar with my paths and patterns than I am myself, and on top of all of that, whatever she's brought me is almost always so unmarked by struggle or blood that she must have made a quick, lethal kill which is also not nothing. It's almost like someone giving you an entire ice cream cone, unlicked, whole, and all for you, rather than handing you a soggy mess of cone with most of the ice cream gone saying, "Here. You want this? I've had all I want." 

We can say what we will, or at least I can say what I will, about Maurice's very odd and not always pacifistic behavior but in giving me these gifts she is showing her love and concern for me in the way she knows best. She has to think about doing it, create a strategy, do it, and deliver it. 
And instead of praising her or marveling at her hunting abilities, her obvious affection for me, I yell at her, mostly in profane ways. 
Why IS this? Well, because I don't like finding dead animals in my house or on my porch. I am obviously not going to eat them, and obviously they must be disposed of which is not a pleasant task. 
But. Their meaning to the cat is completely and purely altruistic and in the end, that is what matters, isn't it? 
And it is such a feline thing to do. What would the canine equivalent be? The only thing they bring humans are balls and sticks that the human can throw for them which brings the dogs much pleasure and I guess, shows that the dog enjoys interacting with the human and that's nice. But it's not the same. 
I realize that dogs show their affection in different ways. Defending their humans sometimes. We all know stories of dogs who have protected their owners or the children of their owners or somehow got the attention of another human when their human is in a dangerous situation. 
"Timmy's in the well!" 
I've heard of cats doing things like this too, but they are not known for it, like dogs are. 

And this is not a cats versus dogs thing. Or even a cats versus crows thing. Crows are wild animals, and as such, are not generally expected to interact with humans in the ways that a domesticated animal would although it would seem that cats are not domesticated in the least, but are essentially the same animals they were when they first began living with humans. A deal was struck. The cats would come into the living spaces of people and help rid them of vermin and the people would let them sleep by the fire or stroke them or even let them have a bite of mammoth entrail from time to time. 

So I've been thinking about all of this and realizing I don't give Maurice enough credit for doing the things for me she perceives as true gifts from the heart. 
I should at least maybe thank her before I start in with the cussing. 

Mr. Moon has gone to the hospital to see one of his very best friends and his best fishing buddy. There was an incident this morning which caused his wife to take him directly to the ER and they're trying to figure out what happened. 
Glen has had so many friends who have had medical problems or even terminal diagnoses lately, or who, in fact, have died. He takes each one with great sorrow. I don't think I'm being hyperbolic here. The man cares very, very much about his friends. 
And as he worries about his friend, I worry about him. He spent all day on a bush hog, clearing land at the property where he sometimes hunts, to get it ready for the season. He does not own this property and he never will. He may not even hunt it. He does love to put up the trail cams and watch what comes in to feed. Bears and raccoons and sometimes even deer. 
And after working all day long in this heat, I know he's exhausted and spent. Hell, I'm feeling complainy about having had to shop all afternoon. 
Poor baby. 
But his exhaustion is the serious kind, the kind where you sweat all day long, and I hate that he's not in his chair, resting now. I know he pushes himself too hard but I also know there's nothing I can do about it. There is simply no way he would not go to the hospital to see his friend and his friend's wife. I know that after all he did today, his legs are even less steady than usual. I asked him to please take his cane, thinking of those long, polished hospital hallways. 
For once, he listened to me. That alone tells you how tired he is. 

These are the things you never consider when you're young and crazy in love, standing in front of a justice of the peace or a notary or a preacher along with your family and your friends, and vow to love each other in sickness and in health. 
You have no idea what that even begins to mean. 
I often wonder if this is why older women at weddings are so apt to cry. 
They know. They do know.

Pottery tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon