The Other Half of the Pooper Scooper

I knew my blog wouldn't be complete without an entry about my better half, David. We were married in July of '03 after a move from California along with my 2 teenage sons, 4 cats and 2 dogs. Why would a man take on a woman with such baggage? I've asked that question many times, and I still don't know the answer.
What the poor guy didn't know, is that shortly after we got married I would end up running a cat rescue organization, which would change his life and our personal finances forever.

When we met, I asked him if he liked cats. He gave the "The Typical Guy Answer" (TTGA): "I'm kind of a dog guy, but I guess cats are OK." I still laugh at that response. I remember shortly after we got married, I got up in the middle of the night to use the washroom. When I came back to bed, there he was asleep on his back, his mouth open - there was a cat asleep on his chest, another in the crook of his arm, and one right between his knees. There was a HUGE tuft of cat hair stuck to his lips that was blowing up and down as he was breathing. Nothing could have made me love him more than I did at that moment....or so I thought...

Three months after we got married my "baby" Newman - my 3 year old tabby girl, started having seizures. After many vet visits, we end up at a feline neurologist. Good Lord, I had no idea there was such a thing! The vet recommended an MRI, spinal tap,...etc etc...to the tune of $3000.00 to determine the cause of the seizures. Imagine being a newlywed, bringing in two crappy teenage boys, a bunch of cats, 2 dogs and NOW the ol' battle axe is asking for 3 Grand for a CAT? It didn't go that way at all...in fact, he looked at me with love in his eyes and said, "Newman is family...we take care of family."

My knees buckled. Holy crap...where was this guy 20 years ago??

David has little songs he sings for all the cats. This "yeah-cats-are-ok" guy, carries them around, cleans up cat barf, the stray piece of cat poop that doesn't make it into the litterbox, and doesn't complain that we have a cat that pee's in our sinks. His time with me is often interrupted by emergency phone calls from foster parents and I'm always asking him for money to pay for vet bills. He reminds me why I'm doing this often thankless volunteer job when I cry in his arms or slam my fists on my desk. He's my best cheerleader.

The only thing he asks of me? Don't put cat crates where he parks his car.

God, I love that man.