My husband, Mike, has never been much of a fan regarding having a pet due to having had some very bad experiences with them during both his childhood and his adult life.  As far as he was concerned, when you’ve been bitten by dogs several times or repeatedly scratched by an ex-girlfriend’s cat, it’s time to accept the fact that animals just don’t like you.

     Unfortunately, for him, he married an animal lover five years ago, and life has never been the same since.

     When some friends of ours needed to find a home for a little ball of fluff that looked as though it was wearing a tuxedo, my husband told me that I could have it as long as he got to name it.

     Now, mind you, I knew how my husband’s mind worked…scary, off-the-beaten-path-at-times, and a little bit nutty, but if this was all that was between me and a cat, then maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

     That’s how ‘Moe Noodleman’…or ‘Noodleman’, for short…came to live with us.

     “You do know”, I told my husband, “that this poor kitty will have to live his entire life being called that name…and if he ever gets lost, we’re going to sound a little bit retarded walking around the neighborhood yelling ‘Moe Noodleman…come here, Moe.’  If a neighbor doesn’t tell us to shut up and just use the phone, I’ll be very surprised!”   

     “It’s a great name!” he retorted.  “When I was little, my father thought up this imaginary guy named  Moe Noodleman, and would talk about him to us kids.”

     “And what was the name of that medication your father SHOULD have been on?” I asked.

     When it was time for ‘Noodleman’ to have his first series of shots at the vets, the veterinarian thought she had heard wrong and asked me to repeat the name…twice.  When I explained that the name was my husband’s idea of a compromise, she laughed and said, “poor kitty.”

     When ‘Noodleman’ was old enough to be neutered, I dropped him off at the vets as instructed and then picked him up later that afternoon.  When I got home, I put the cat carrier down on the living room floor to let our ’son’ out but my husband noticed a label that hadn’t been on there earlier.  Then he laughed and said, “It says ‘The Noodle Man’.  Does that mean we have to get him a vendor’s license, now, too?!”

     But things are never one-sided…’Noodleman’ knows that he is In Charge of the home domain.

     As a kitten,  this little ball of fluff would curl up on my husband’s chest and fall asleep while purring up a storm.  “Honey”, Mike would whisper.  “Could you pull the blankets over my legs for me?  He’s sound asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”

     Now if ‘Noodleman’ lays on my husband’s chest, all I hear is, “Honey, can you move the cat?  I can’t breathe! But don’t wake him…”

     Sometimes at night I’ll suddenly wake up to a yell. ”What’s the matter, Baby…are you alright?”  “No, I’m not alright…the darn cat just bit my toe!!!”

     “Noodleman” is quite a character, and acts as though he owns us instead of the other way around.  But he may be right, you know.  Just the other morning I called my husband from work to make sure he had heard the alarm clock.  “I can’t talk right now, Honey…if I don’t feed the cats, I can’t drink my coffee in peace!”

     Did I say ‘cats’?  Yup…