What Peter does

“What is the cat doing?” I asked my husband, Peter.

“He’s levitating,” Peter said. Or at least I thought that’s what he said.

“The cat is levitating?”

“Meditating!”

“Oh.”

We have a lot of conversations like this, and I suspect Peter and I are not alone. I was lying in bed later that evening, imagining our cat, Felix, floating over the nightstand, and the thing that struck me was that Peter would take it in stride.

Peter and I will celebrate our 10th anniversary this week, which doesn’t seem possible for two reasons. First, because it cannot be possible that 10 years have passed since we got married, and second, because it cannot be possible there was ever a time I was not married to Peter.

In the past 10 years, I have learned that if the cat was to suddenly start to levitate, Peter would not fly off the handle. He would do some quick research and determine how frequent cat levitation was and if there was cause for concern. Will the cat return to normal gravity in time? Will we need to keep him on a harness?

I’d still be watching Felix floating 3 feet off the nightstand and Peter would already have a plan of action in place – in case we should need to fetch the cat off the ceiling or retrieve him as he started to float out the window. Peter would know what to do. This is what Peter does. It is not the only reason I love Peter, but it is one of the reasons.

It’s called “learned helplessness,” when the patient forgets how to make her own coffee (or buy it, for that matter), and everything required for her meal shows up, like magic, in the cupboard. That would be me. Peter occasionally expresses frustration if we run out of something, because he has a secret inventory system that I am entirely oblivious to. If I start eating an inordinate amount of tuna or honey or potatoes, we will suddenly run low – and Peter does not allow us to run low on anything.

Peter plans our travel. Peter pays the bills. Peter knows how I am feeling before I do – which is handy because then I can just ask him.

“Why do I feel this way?” I’ll ask.

“You’ve felt this way before,” he’ll remind me. “It will pass.” And he is always right.

Peter does all these things because he cares for me. After 10 years, I know what Peter does and, because he does these things every day without saying a word, I could easily take what he does for granted.

But I don’t.

Because we were not young when we married 10 years ago, and even then, I knew that coffee does not appear by magic and the bathroom is not automatically filled with toilet paper. I knew that problems have to be solved, that life would serve up an increasing number of problems as we aged, and that having someone beside me to help solve those problems was a precious gift.

Peter often reminds me that we don’t know if we will be given another day together or another 30 years. “But either way,” he says, “it will be too short.” And he is right.

But as long as we are together, I know Peter will be there to help figure out whatever comes our way. And so, no, I was not overly worried about the cat levitating yesterday. It would certainly be unusual, but it would be nothing that Peter could not handle.

Till next time,

Carrie