A Bump In the Night.

My African husband tolerates my cats, in that he doesn't kick one as he walks by.

My family has always had at least one cat. We just like them. I have never thought anything of letting a cat sleep in bed with me or having one taking a nap in my lap. We just buy better vacuum cleaners and lint rollers to win the battle against shedding hair. If the cats would allow us to vacuum them directly, I think the battle would be won.

Ismael wouldn't mind them if they lived outside. To him, that is where animals belong. Out. Not in bed. Not in your lap. Not in your house. And for God's sake, not traipsing across the kitchen table as they might at the least opportune times. His west African friends don't like them, even to the point of being afraid of them. No one can really tell me why. I think it's a superstition thing.

I learned this lesson early in our marriage. First, the cats were banished from our bedroom and the door had to be shut to keep them out. Second, the day when I retrieved Moshe from his hallway excursion outside our apartment, Ismael saw me kiss him squarely on his head. My new husband looked at me with the revulsion saved for someone who just swallowed live bait in your presence. I have since limited my displays of feline affection to solitary times.

When the baby arrived and began sleeping in his own room, I made a new rule. The bedroom doors must be open at all times so we can hear him if he needs us. The noise from the baby monitor keeps me awake, so I don't like it on. We have a safety tent on the baby's crib to keep the cats out. And our apartment is small enough that if he moans in the next room, we can certainly hear him in ours. I put my foot down and Ismael acquiesced. Though he didn't like it.

Last night, I felt him bolt upright in bed. He had planned to get up and go work at 10 anyway, but this urgency felt different than someone getting ready for work. I, being a somewhat caring wife and still awake anyway, asked the normal question - "What is wrong?"

"The cat, the cat, he put his paw on my mouth," and with that he leapt out of bed and ran for his bathroom, where I heard water running and the toothbrush going. I probably even heard some cursing and wishing for an entirely new set of lips.

I didn't even ask which cat did it. I knew. It was Moshe (far right). He is big, bold, brash and doesn't care one whit if Ismael hates his guts, which I think he actually knows. He winds around Ismael's legs. He flops down next to him and shows his belly like he's going to be petted. Sometimes, I find him sleeping on Ismael's side of the bed when he is gone. And apparently, he gets some secret delight from tapping Ismael's mouth with what is probably not the cleanest foot in the world.

My husband must love me, because this is one of the many things he tolerates in order to live with me. I have offered to find them homes (I did find a home from Simba, the striped one), but he allows me to keep my pets. I am a little sad though because I know these are probably the last ones I will ever have. And if he is freaked out by the mannerisms of an aloof cat, I don't think we are going to be dog people in the future either!