Susan's Hero

The Soul Mate and I have been married for 40 years. It's a really good marriage, but ya know, you live with a person that long and you become familiar with every bad habit they have (as they become familiar with yours). For instance, I know that when I tell him things, he sometimes doesn't listen--I feel like the parents on a Charlie Brown cartoon. You know the ones--they're just a pair of legs and a one note horn, which the kids hear as "Waa, waa, WAA, waa, waa."

But he's super competent and I'm telling you, that trips my buzzer every time. I find few things more attractive--or flat out sexier--than competence. And this past Friday night he was, hands down, my hero.

We were on our way to our cabin on the eastern slopes of the Cascades with our best friends Doug and Mimi and our cats Boo and Mojo. The cats are good travelers, but just before we reached North Bend where we were going to stop at a taco joint for a quick meal, Mojo started his dentist drill meow, the one that usually means he has to pee.

Facing the same situation once before, we'd stopped at a shopping center in Gig Harbor, whose parking lot was divided by meridians hosting shrubs, ground cover and evergreens. We parked away from the stores where it was quiet and I let Mojo crawl under the bushes where he did his biz, and we were all the happier for it when we continued our trip. The lot in North Bend Friday night was bordered with trees and bushes, so I thought I'd do the same thing, then we could go grab a bite to eat and hit the road again.

It didn't exactly turn out that way. It was not, in truth, one of my brighter moves. This parking lot was smaller and worlds noisier and the growth was dense and deep, with a fairly fast-running creek at its bottom.

Poor Mojo was completely freaked out. He disappeared into the thick brush, meowing up a storm. Then he went quiet, but that was worse, because we didn't have a clue where he was and he didn't respond to our calls. I was starting to quietly panic because he can be a stubborn little sonofagun and I was not only worried about him but had visions of our lovely getaway being spent in a fast food parking lot until the sun came up. We shined the glovebox flashlight into the woods, but his coat has always rendered him a stealth kitty. He's a smoky gray, which you'd think would make him pop against lighter or darker backgrounds, wouldn'tcha? And, of course, in some situations he does. Mostly, however, he's a chameleon.

We were getting nowhere fast and without discussion the Soul Mate suddenly headed into the brambles. He fought his way through them step by step until his flashlight finally picked up SmokyJoe where he'd hunkered down in a pile of leaves under a tangle of blackberry vines. Then Steve very patiently worked his way over to him, greeted him with a soft, "Hey, Moj," scooped him up from where he'd gone to ground and fought his way out again, cat cuddled to his chest.

Mojo didn't have a scratch on him. Steve, on the other hand, had a nick on his face that bled and his right wrist and forearm were criss-crossed with five or six nasty scratches, which he didn't even show me until Sunday night. But in his usual low key way he accomplished what he set out to do .

He was totally my hero. I don't care that he sometimes tunes me out when I'm talking. Or that he has a habit or two that gives me a temporary case of tight teeth. Because he'll rescue my cats without complaint or a show of temper and he won't say "What the hell were you thinking?" over my less than well-thought out decision that made the rescue necessary in the first place. He'll also rub my feet by the hour and clean my skis and put them away after we hit the trails or wash my paint brushes for me when I'm done painting.

And I gotta tell you, that so works for me.

What about you? What quiet everyday thing does your husband or wife do that gives you that warm sense of satisfaction?