My husband calls Possum "Professor Crossypaws" for obvious reasons. He also took this picture, which I love. I adore all of our cats but Possum and I have a special bond... even if he's been spending most of his time curled up with my husband instead of ME.
Feeling a little jealous, you ask?
How about INSANELY JEALOUS?
Don't worry, I won't fall into total despair and down a mango-Drano smoothie. I'll just sing along to Roy Orbison as I watch my most precious, beloved, soulmate of a cat snuggling day and night with someone else — although it's painful to see his rapt, adoring gaze. And all the while, said husband is struggling to remain glued to his laptop despite the large distracting object that keeps appearing inconveniently between his head and the screen.
My weapon is Truth. I've taken to reminding Possum that I had to fight to get him. That a certain party didn't want him because of his clipped ear. I won't waste your time listing the pithy points I used to demolish his argument that Possum was not right for us because of his ear. (Oh, for god's sake....) I'll just say that I was "emphatic" and that a certain party was forcibly gotten over the ear thing long ago.
And then I can't help mentioning to Possum that, back when we'd first met him, a certain party also demanded that we only get a female kitten, which the rescue people had said Possum was. I'd wanted a male, because we already had Wendy, but I fell in love with Possum. (The other party preferred his sister, with two whole ears.) "He's a little BOY!" I crowed in delight after his foster mom called with the surprising news after his pre-adoption vet visit. (He was fluffy and already neutered.)
I won that argument, too.
Possum doesn't even blink when I tell him this stuff. He's heard it before and moved on: no grudge-holding from Possum. Male bonding and intense academic collaboration continue.
So then I'm forced to strike where it matters. "Possum," I say, "He might MAKE the popcorns, but who GIVES you the popcorns? Did he ever spare a single piece from his bowl for you? No! Never!"
Possum is a new popcorn convert — a popcorn fiend, in fact. My husband acts oblivious to his intense pressure tactics, but I dutifully take handfuls of popcorn and carefully inspect and edit them to a few perfect pieces with no sharp bits of unpopped shell that could cause choking. And when Possum gets them all soggy and disgusting because he's lousy at eating popcorn, I scoop up the wet bits with my fingers so he can finish them off.
I deserve a ton of credit for this, I do.
Talking about popcorn always gets his attention, so then I say, "And what about the bicycle rickshaw? Spring is coming! WHO is going to have time to pedal you around to the restaurant dumpsters of your choice, and WHO is too busy working 80 hours a week to ever take you anywhere but to the vet?
If I'm lucky he'll feel guilty and visit me in the middle of the night, walking around on me as I'm curled up on my side. It's awkward and his feet feel very hard and pointy at that hour, but I'll take what I can get.