In an age where Metrosexuals abound and my son has a girl calling him to ask him how to dye her hair, I am married to a lion.

Men now get facials and pedicures, manicures and hair plugs, liposuction and waxing. The line between genders has blurred to an almost impossible edge: when I watch a teenager walk down the street from behind, I rarely can tell if it's a boy or a girl. And often, I guess wrong.

I live with a lion. My husband paces like a caged beast if he's not outside or in a comfort zone where he is the alpha male. When we get home from a stressful day, and they are all stressful these days, he prepares his cigar and walks outside, the dogs loyally at his side, gazing adoringly at their Beast. He'll pick up the small dog and head rub. He paces like a zoo-kept cat who needs a bigger cage. His mane too long, needing a cut. His craggy face weathered and lined from decades of sun and wind. He nails cut short, his body fit from lifting and walking and fixing and pushing. 

He roars things like, "Did you hear me?" when he wants to make a point. He enjoys the women in bikini's at the beach, he appreciates their thongs. He's an old railroad engineer, he loves trains and trucks and motorcycles. He has to live where there are not a lot of people. Life has to be just him, his "pride" and lots of space so his neighbors don't turn into prey.

He recently visited Colorado to see our property and visit his relatives. His cousin invited him to dinner one night where the whole family was gathering: they do this a lot. My husband tried to decline, it was just too painful to be among a large crowd big with small talk and perfume and questions and dialogue. He'd rather sit in the backyard alone, under a tree, watchful with his nose in the wind. His cousin pushed him. My husband said, "That's why I moved to Hawaii. So I didn't have to go to all these things." His cousin said, "You're with family now. Get used to it."

This is exactly how he looks at me. Weird, huh?  

Lions are predatory carnivores who manifest two types of social organization. Some are residents, living in groups called prides. This usually consists of 5 or 6 related females, their cubs of both sexes and one or two males who mate with the adult females.

The second organizational behaviour is labeled nomads, who range widely and move about sporadically, either singularly or in pairs. A lion may switch lifestyles, nomads may become residents and vice versa.

My husband is currently living as a nomad, though when we move back to Colorado, he may be forced to become a resident.  The area a pride occupies is called a "pride area," whereas that by a nomad is a range.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye while working around him. He performs a perimeter check, making sure we are all safe. Calls his kids to check in. Sticks his fingers in the dirt and waters the trees and waters the dogs and his eyes gaze somewhere into the future at a point that I cannot see.

The tolerance of the male lions toward the cubs varies, sometimes a male will patiently let the cubs play with his tail or his mane, whereas another may snarl and bat the cubs away. He's the more patient type of Cat, he'll snarl only if they play with him too long. Although I suspect grandchildren will be allowed to play endlessly around him with no repercussions.

He was hospitalized twice last year for dreadful illnesses: M.S. and Trigeminal Neuralgia. He was hooked up to a morphine drip and other lines, tied to a bed by a hatrack of tubing. He couldn't even look out the window somedays, his longing for the outdoors was so deep. He asked his doctors if they'd let him go home for one afternoon to "see his dogs." They looked at him like he was mad and pulled me out of the room. "What's wrong with him?" they asked. "This isn't a hotel, why is he asking for a day-pass?' They thought he should be happy and grateful for some pain relief and clean sheets and ESPN on the hospital television. How little they understood his nature, his need for nature and his home, his range.

"He's not like you and me," I tried to explain. "He's never even had an inside job! He needs to be outside. He needs to be in his own surroundings. This is dying to him, not healing." They shook their heads, barely hiding their elitist medical school contempt [so much for bedside manner!] and wrote their notes and I walked back to my Cat, him looking at me with dead eyes and matted fur.  

He slinks back in the kitchen now, past the water bowls and plants in big pots. He's looking for me and some wildebeest, perhaps some circling vultures and some wind in his face cuz it's too damn hot. Lions live for 10-14 years in the wild, while in captivity they can live over 20 years. So it's a fine line for him. While the 21st century capitivity he feels can be smothering, it will also be the reason he lives longer than his undomesticated friends in the wild. In the meantime, I try to keep him well-fed and not overwhelmed. Just in case.