I was brushing my teeth before work, and the fly was buzzing about my head much the way my cat buzzes about the sink when I brush my teeth before bed. I heard myself say, “Hey, Zazu.” I’ve mistaken my son for my cat, too. But never my husband. My husband mistakes himself for the cat, though. I’ll be talking to the cat, and he’ll call out from another room, “What’s that?” And I’ll say, “Talking to the cat.” Which is exactly what happened this morning. I didn’t want to get into a whole thing about mistaking a fly for the cat. Some things are too much effort to explain. My husband complained then, as he often does, that I talk more lovingly to the cat than to him. I pointed out that a lot of this loving talk is also patronizing. I call the cat “little man” and “little lunatic,” for instance. Does he really want me to talk to him like that? No, he guesses not, my husband said. But he sounded disappointed, nonetheless.
