I'm a Dog and Brent's a Cat. Is That What Makes Our Relationship Work?
The two of us are a lot alike in most ways, but in one respect, we're exact opposites.
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Brent and I have been a couple for more than thirty years, and we have a lot in common. But we don’t always look at the world in the same way.
In one respect, we’re exact opposites.
To put it simply, I’m a dog and he’s a cat. And we don’t always understand each other — but it might be the reason why our relationship works so well.
Dogs live in the present. They see a stick, and they want to chase it. They hear the word “walk,” and they’re already at the door, tail wagging. They jump onto strangers trying to lick their faces.
That’s me — except I try not to lick strangers.
And it’s no joke: I’m happiest living in the moment, not endlessly revisiting the past or dissecting decisions we’ve already made. Once something’s settled, I’m on to the next thing.
Brent, on the other hand, is a cat. Cats carefully observe and evaluate, and they never lick strangers. They are a little bit aloof, but once they warm up, they are devoted companions.
Brent likes to turn things over in his mind, considering the past and the future, and reviewing all the possibilities before making any decision.
And sometimes when I think a decision has been made, he brings it up again.
Whereas I live firmly in the present and could easily spend the rest of my life experiencing nothing but the “new,” Brent lives simultaneously in different timelines: the past and the future, as well as the present.
How exactly does that dynamic play out in our lives as nomads?
When we pick a destination, my approach is decisive: we do the research, weigh the pros and cons, discuss it, and then — bam! — once we’ve decided, I’m on to the next thing. Decision made. I don’t need to talk about it again.
Brent, meanwhile, often circles back. He revisits our options, pondering things from every angle, making sure there isn’t something we forgot to consider.
Where I see closure, he often sees unfinished business. And to his credit, he does find flaws in our plans. For example, sometimes I have overscheduled us, and if he hadn’t put the kibosh on things, even I would have regretted it.
Trying to do Australia’s Kakadu National Park in a single week would have been a mistake, if only because it would have meant too many grueling flights in too short a time.
On the other hand, if it weren’t for me, we never would have gone to Australia in the first place, and Brent ended up loving that.
Fortunately, I am usually open to revisiting topics. And when we do, if I eventually say, “Nope, I want to do what we originally planned!” Brent will say, “Okay, that’s a good, clear answer.”
I might bark and he might meow, but we listen to each other.
Once we’re settled into a new place, I need to get out and explore right away, bounding around and sniffing everything. (No, I don’t mark my territory by peeing on fire hydrants and mailboxes.)
I also need walks twice a day.
But as a cat, Brent is different. He loves exploring, but he’s also sometimes more than happy to spend most of a day curled up inside next to the fire.
You might think my being canine-inclined while he’s more feline would drive us both crazy — and sometimes it does.
But most of the time, it works exceptionally well.
My decisiveness keeps us moving forward. His tendency to revisit ensures we haven’t overlooked something important.
Together, we’re neither reckless nor paralyzed by overthinking.
And my getting out for morning walks gives us both a little time to ourselves.
But our dynamic applies to more than just travel planning.
I’m not a nostalgic person. I rarely re-watch old movies, and I almost never tell stories from my childhood. For me, the past is the past: interesting, sometimes painful, sometimes happy, but a place I rarely dwell.
But Brent is both nostalgic and sentimental. He often thinks back to his childhood in Washington State, to the friends and experiences that shaped him. He remembers them vividly and often brings them up.
He has a long list of friends from his childhood and college days, people he’s still in close contact with. I confess, I don’t. But I am on social media, which Brent hates.
While I’m bounding toward the next stick, he’s pausing to recall the last one — where it came from, what it meant, and how much it means to him.
When we fight, I get angry fast and bark furiously. But a few hours later, I’ve pretty much forgotten the whole thing.
Brent is calmer and quieter and never scratches. But he’s got a longer memory than I do. Which isn’t to say he holds grudges — he doesn’t. He doesn’t forget quickly, either.
If this all sounds like we’re polar opposites, it doesn’t feel that way. In the ways that matter most — decency, curiosity, compassion, maturity — I think we’re much more alike than we are different.
Our different natures are more spice than substance. They flavor our relationship, but they don’t define its foundation.
There’s an idea that in relationships, “opposites attract,” but it’s not really true. Research consistently shows that romantic partners share similarity in 82–89% of traits — everything from education and political views to substance use.
Most of us also find similarities more “attractive.”
And even when we are attracted to an “opposite,” those pairings rarely last. Truly opposite partners account for just 3% of long-term relationships.
I think this is mostly true for Brent and me too: our relationship works primarily because of our similarities.
But the “opposite” part — the dog and cat thing — helps balance us. My tendency to leap forward complements Brent’s instinct to circle back. His memory balances my momentum.
Plus, he gets me to watch great old movies like Sunset Boulevard, and I get to show him the really cool street I discovered on one of my morning walks in Seoul.
And after more than thirty years together, I think that’s the secret: the two of us, curled up side by side, both loving the same life.
Michael Jensen is a novelist and editor. For a newsletter with more of my photos, visit me at www.MichaelJensen.com.
Not peeing on hydrants or mailboxes may be your greatest gift to Brent --second only to thirty years of adventures. This is partnership in action.
Brilliant. In my relationship, when it comes to travel, I'm a shark and my wife's an elephant. Like a shark, I always want to keep moving and going to a place I've never been before. My wife has a strong memory for places and yearns to go back to them. Works out in the end.