I’m Leaving My Wife Today

We didn't arrive here together, and we won’t leave together. I just have to accept it. We've had some great times and three great kids. Two major moves. A string of unlucky cats we named after something in Las Vegas. There was Jackpot. He started it all. Good cat. He did his own thing, and then got run over by the UPS driver. But that was before the kids. Sam never was a very sensitive child, but she was too young to even say kitty.

Carly, our second--child that is--acted tough when Casino was put to sleep. Leukemia, who the hell even figured out that cats get leukemia? Casino's death spawned a conflict between my wife and me that we never could resolve. Arguing over whether to put Casino to sleep or let him live out his days revealed a deep and irreconcilable difference between us.

Aces High, or Aces usually, lived the longest. She had a black smudge on her chest that we all pretended looked like a spade so we could justify the name. The kids were in high school when Aces just didn't return home. Tapping into that deep division, my wife and I had a huge argument over that.

"You know, we could just keep the damn cats inside the house!" she shouted on our way out of the Sams Club parking lot. We'd been nibbling around it as we picked up paper towels, vitamins and a garden hose.

"Cats gotta be free!" I offered.

Her eyes widened and lips narrowed, "You always got to joke things away don't you? If I'd known you were an expert at avoiding difficult things, then I would have never married you."

The green arrow came on, and I turned slowly toward our house, "No doubt that's true."

She glared out the window the rest of the way home. She didn't mention my episodic unemployment, Sam's addiction, or how much we should help her widowed mother...I didn't know what to say.

I hate that the kids have to be here today. I almost adopted a cat, but only Jason is still at home, three more semesters of college left. Besides the only names I could think of at the shelter were Stage IV, Malignant, Metastatic.

Sam's shitty boyfriend is here wearing black khakis and a white shirt he bought last night at Wal-Mart. Carly, I can't even look at her. She has no ability to protect herself from pain. Sam's head is swiveling around as if he's expecting someone to come pick him up.

I'm leaving my wife today, and I want to out of here before they start filling in her grave.