Heroes are still in demand

The stereotypical hero always has bulging muscles and quite likely weapons of immense and scary powers. He seems to pop up in the nick of time and woos the damsel in distress by staving off evil doers and stopping trains from falling off the rails. The hero may zoom in on an ultra modern car or gallop up on a white horse. And in armor! Always in armor - whether silvery metal or underwear-over-tights, a hero always has a uniform. A hero is big and burly and almost menacing in his own way. And a hero always, always saves the day.

I don't live in a crime-infested neighborhood and I don't really have issues with the mafia. Supernatural villains don't seem to be banging down my door either. (Whew, let's not tempt fate huh? Knock on wood!). And so, some might say, I don't really need a hero. At least not the flying through air-pummeling bad guys into pulp-stopping cars with one hand-white horse riding kind.

This weekend we stayed at D's friend's place. A place with a cat. A cat who likes to rub up against anyone and everyone, most especially, me. A cat who seemed to want to follow me into the bathroom and the bedroom and everywhichwhere. A cat who seemed to sense my dislike, my distrust, let's just say it, shall we, my fear, of all things feline in nature. A cat who was speedy and slinky and really just sneaky.

And D shooed the cat out of the bedroom. And he kept the cat away from the sofa I sat on. And every time (but EVERY time) I had to use the bathroom - whether to check my hair or to wash my hands, to shower or to do my makeup - every time D sat with that cat on the sofa or in a corner and kept it from following me and rubbing against me and meowing at me.

Who says I don't need a hero? In fact, I think I just found one.