I’m a cheater. And here’s the evidence.
I’ve been found out. There were traces of my infidelity: a little fur on my pants, a hint of perfume that speaks of dander and barn.
It all started innocently enough. A few treats began a romance that has her running every time she hears my voice.
Jack hasn’t left me yet. We’re trying to work things out with honest communication and a little extra attention. I’m trying to tell him that it’s okay—it’s a female cat, therefore she can’t replace him.
Her name is Molly. She’s the cat next door. She’s always outside because she’s a barn cat and it’s her job to keep mice and rabbits (and baby weasels) to a minimum.
Technically, she’s a first cousin, so she’s family. I try to tell Jack that’s it is all okay, that he won’t be replaced, that I won’t leave him for her.
Still, I feel a little guilty when I go outside and pet Molly, then come back inside to my own cat. I know he knows. He can smell her. And he can hear me wooing her with sweet words of “Oh pretty girl” and the like.
I’ve got a lot of work to do. And some Temptations to buy.