"No wonder cats love you…" My husband's casual but profound remark

Living with cats, who think and act so differently from humans, there are plenty of times you just want to quip, "Why are you doing that!?" or "Why don't you just do it like this!" But my husband accepts our "cat-lord" majestically just as they are and respects their will. That’s why the cats love him.

This time, I’d like to introduce some famous quotes from my husband that touched my heart and made me think, "Wow, that’s such a perfect thing to say..." Feel free to steal them!

"However you want to use it, that's the right way."

This is a quote I heard when I bought dome-style beds for our three cats. As is common with cats, they didn’t go inside, but instead squashed the beds flat to use them... I once complained to my husband, laughing and saying, "They’re using them all wrong, aren't they?"

After laughing and saying, "I see your point," he added, "But maybe going inside is just the way humans think is correct? For a cat, it might be easier to use them squashed flat."

That was a perspective I hadn’t considered, and I was impressed, thinking, "That's true..."

No matter how much humans think about a cat’s feelings when making products, there are bound to be times when the cat thinks the "right way" to use it is different. I realized that by telling a cat, "That's not how you use that," I might just be forcing the human version of the "right way" onto them.

My husband, who has a researcher's temperament, was excited, saying, "If we collected data on how they use them, we could probably find the 'right way' cats actually believe in." He gently stroked our cat sleeping on the bed and whispered, "However you want to use it, that's the right way."

At that moment, a halo seemed to appear only in that spot! It was too dazzling for a mere mortal like me to get close.

"You did a great job being a cat today, too."

On weekdays, we sometimes have dinner together, and there’s a routine where if I say, "I’m tired from work," my husband praises me, saying, "You worked so hard! Good for you!"

During this unique and heartwarming ritual, I once said, "The cats were sleeping the whole time while I was working. Must be nice... I want to be a cat!"

Then, my husband gently stroked the cat next to him, saying, "I bet being a cat is hard work too, you know." He then started praising the cat, saying, "You did a great job being a cat today, too! You worked hard."

While joking that we have one cat who we suspect isn't really a cat (lol), I deeply appreciated the strange, warm comfort of the phrase "a cat works hard at being a cat."

If I’m reborn as a cat in my next life, I want to live with someone who will praise me for "doing a great job being a cat."

"Even humans don't like it when someone suddenly tries to get too close."

Our tabby cat Kotaro is the most guarded of the bunch and originally only bonded with me. When he first met my husband, he performed the secret art of the "scratch," successfully drawing blood from him.

Even after we started living together, the distance between them didn't close easily. They went through various battles, such as Kotaro stealing the mackerel miso from the dining table or sticking his paws into the curry.

Whenever my husband tried to touch him, Kotaro would hiss, "Back off!" and reject him. If my husband got too close, Kotaro would stare at his face and go into high-alert mode.

Seeing this, my husband would reflect, "You're right. Even humans don't like it when someone suddenly tries to get too close." From then on, he strictly practiced "never initiating touch" and "only petting gently when the cat approaches me."

Two and a half years later, Kotaro no longer hisses when my husband touches him, and he’s stopped stealing the mackerel miso. Somewhere along the way, I’m sure my husband became family to Kotaro.

The way you bridge the distance with a cat is no different than with a human. Neither works if you just force your feelings on them. I feel like that's a lesson I learned from the bond my husband and Kotaro cultivated.

"But you have your own unique charms, don't you?"

When you call for repair services, it's common to meet people who get sparkly-eyed and say, "Oh, you have cats!" We’ve had that experience a few times, but there was one worker who was incredibly rude.

The pair who came to our house looked at our cats and were surprised, asking, "You have three?" and then, "Are they pedigreed?"

When I replied, "One is, but the others are mixes," they pointed to Leon, our orange tabby, and said, "This one is the pedigreed one, right? He's so pretty!"

Then, when I introduced Jiji by saying, "Actually, this one is the pedigreed one. He’s a Munchkin with short legs," they laughed and said, "Wait! This one...? (lol) The other one is much prettier!"

I’m sure they didn't mean any harm and were just making casual conversation. But I felt sad because it felt like they were implicitly saying Jiji wasn't "pretty." I hated that Jiji had heard those words.

Years later, I happened to mention this unresolved story to my husband as part of a casual conversation.

He replied, "That's nonsense! Jiji has his own unique charms!" He gently stroked Jiji, who was nearby, and said, "But you have your own unique charms, don't you?"

At that moment, I think it wasn't just Jiji who felt saved. I felt like my past self—the one who felt like my beloved cat had been insulted—had also been petted and reassured, and I nearly cried.

"I just want you to come home one more time."

These words came from my husband when Jiji was hovering between life and death during the New Year's holidays. Jiji was in critical condition, bleeding from a suspected tumor and suffering from hypothermia; the night was his greatest hurdle.

When I visited Jiji in the oxygen chamber, prepared to never see him again, I sobbed, "I love you," and "Let's go home." My husband said, "I just want you to come home one more time."

Just one more time. After we returned home, my husband quietly explained the feelings he had packed into those words.

"He's getting older, so he might not have much time left. I've already prepared myself for that. That’s why I just thought I wanted him to come home one more time."

I want them to live long lives. I want to be together forever. When a beloved cat is in mortal danger, owners naturally wish for those things. I’m the type who leans that way, and even when I was told Jiji might pass away that day, I kept wishing for "a long time" or "forever from now on."

But my husband’s wish was realistic and humble: "just one more time." It was a form of wish that wouldn't have occurred to me, and as tears streamed down my face, I felt how warm it was too.

Because it’s so brave. To pour love into words mixed with such stoicism—"I just want you to come home one more time." They were words characteristic of a husband who lost his mother in middle school and had to support himself.

Though we speak different languages, cats surely understand human speech. That is exactly why I want to face my cats every day, carefully thinking about what words to say to them. There have been a lot of columns related to illness lately, so I hope this one serves as a restful, heartwarming break.