My cat Zubby and I just got in from a leisurely garden inspection.

This would consist of me walking around the property and the cat staying just close enough that he can keep an eye on me at all times while simultaneously staying far enough away that there is no way it can be construed that he is either hanging out with me or taking the slightest interest in what I am up to.

Zubby walks a finely calibrated tightrope. We can all imagine the crushing stress he's under maintaining such a precise equilibrium.

Of all the cats I've owned, he has by far the smallest grasp of human vocabulary. He recognizes what the words "wanna go out?" mean and "time to eat" perks his interest, but after that comprehension plummets.

We think he probably recognizes his name, but he doesn't respond to it very often. That I put down to his exquisitely honed ability to snub us.

It's his special gift.

Zubby takes no interest in the fine world of horticulture beyond eating and then puking up grass and occasionally lying upon any small seedlings I might be nurturing. So of course during our walks I comment constantly on the latest developments in the fast breaking garden news to him.

"Awww, look, the purple cone flower and the blue globe thistle are in flower now!"

For those of you who do not speak fluent Zubby this would translate to:

"Blaaaahhhhhh, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!"

As you can well imagine, the cat practically shimmers with excitement over such tidbits.

When I first began my gardens lo these many years ago, the spousal unit pretty much shared Zubby's attitude toward them, but over the years his interest and appreciation have grown.

Early in our marriage "Awww, look, the purple cone flower and the blue globe thistle are in flower now!" would have translated into "Aw, look, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah!" for the spousal unit.

However, unlike the cat, he was kind enough to feign interest and comprehension.

I don't know if he's genuinely grown to enjoy the gardens or if I've just worn him down. He mentioned this morning that he really likes the current look of them. I suspect that's because he likes colours in the hot range.

As he was packing his lunch he gave me a quick run through of his upcoming day. In the afternoon he will be working for a friend of ours who recently lost her husband after a long battle with cancer.

The spousal unit remarked that she seems to be holding up remarkably well and to talk to her you would never guess she was recently widowed. I told him I thought she might have done a lot of her grieving over the years her husband was sick and besides, some people hide their feelings better than others.

He then told me that if I croaked he'd be openly morose for hours, maybe days.

I thanked him profusely for his bountiful profession of love. I reiterated my long promised threat to kill him if he croaks before I do.

There was this pause.

And then out of the blue he said he could not imagine another woman living in this house. To cover up the unexpected lump in my throat, I teased him that when I go to The Big Compost Pile In The Sky there will be wimmens all over him, that he will not have problems replacing me.

"Do you know how hard it would be to find someone willing to do this much gardening?" he mock complained before giving me my morning smooch and heading out the door.

Indeed.

You know, when we married I promised myself that I would keep my independence. I kept my name and didn't become Mrs. Him which was rare way back then.

I thought somehow that by trying to be equal partners we would not become inextricably intertwined.

Silly me.