Even Mackie belongs together with his 10 year old scratching post. Every time I think I should get rid of it and get him a newer, fancier high-rise, I realize that I cannot separate a Cat from his Pillow.
I may not meet that Special One until I gaze down the corridor of the Seizure World Home and see him cackling toothlessly at me as he rolls towards me on his Hoveround, but the folks downstairs have found each other early, and they are a Perfect Match.
Each evening, as I lay me down to sleep, I hear the hyena-like laughter of Night Terror Guy in the bedroom directly below mine. He thrashes violently in his sleep and talks a blue streak and it's always something Science-Fictiony. Like the time I heard him say, "Behind you! The Spawn Behind you!" which sent shivers of terror and visions of slime running down my spine, let me tell you!
Last night, it was 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea as I heard, "The only way out is through the Porthole! The Porthole!" Or maybe he said Portal, in which case it would be Time Travely. I don't know, either way it's a weird thing to hear conversationally before drifting off to sleep.
In broad daylight, this is a big, strapping redheaded dude, fairly guy-ish, prone to video gaming to the point of rotting his eyeballs and wearing the pads off his fingertips, but otherwise a pretty nice, quiet sort of person.
As is his girlfriend, a pretty tiny Japanese woman who never makes eye contact and never says hello when passing her on the sidewalk. I've only spoken to her once, when I was in their apartment asking about the video games they played, when she piped up in a friendly, conspiratorial tone that in her opinion, Night Terror Guy played TOO MANY video games.
I couldn't quite see them as a couple. I mean, I think they may just be roommates, but even so they seem very oddly matched. Until it dawned on me.
Every morning I hear her leave for work, lock the front door, SLAM the screen door and clack-clack-clack go her heels down the sidewalk to her car. At exactly the end of the building, she turns around, clack-clack-clacks back, opens the screen door, and Checks to see if she's locked the front door. Every morning. SLAM goes the screen door the second time and clack-clack-clack go her heels down the sidewalk, off to work at last.
Mystery solved, as to what the attraction is: She's Obsessive Compulsive Girl! They Belong Together!