Emily, if youve got money you cant do anything with, why not give it to your brother? Its absurd! Twelvethousand pounds for his rent! Mother shrieked.
Emily set her glass down, her lips pressed tight. Relatives kept piling on, and shed had enough of celebrating birthdays or chatting with them.
Olivia, stop feeding the girl piecookings a waste, Father tried to intervene. Is today a holiday or something?
Right, a holiday, Mother snorted. And then my grandkids will go back to the council flat, sharing a kitchen with the neighbours drunkards, while I keep praying nothing terrible happens to them. If you, Emily, handed that twelvethousand to James, he could rent a proper flat, not just a cramped room! Your cats could survive on plain food, they wouldnt need fancy tea.
Mother, Emily protested, I took those cats in myself because I wanted to. Im responsible for them. James is a grown man, thirtyfive now. He should look after himself and any family hes chosen to start.
James, the grown man, twisted his mouth in displeasure, flopped back on the sofa and turned his back.
Thats your family too! Mother raised her voice. Your brother, your nephews! As for stray cats, take any you like. Weve fed our own with porridge and tins all our lives and its worked fine. You treat them like children! Fine, you dont want to have kids. Want to waste away alone in old age? Be my guest. But you cant pamper your felines while your own nephews only see a candy on special occasions!
Emilys patience snapped. Years of neglect, dismissal, and belittlement erupted along with tears streaming down her cheeks.
These cats are better than family, she blurted. They love me unconditionally, asking for nothing. And theyll never nag me for living my own life.
She could take no more. Turning on her heel, Emily bolted to the bedroom and slammed the door with all her might.
Fine, well see how long you love them when you stop buying all those trinkets! Mother called after her. The worlds turned upside down. Some cats are now worth more than parents
The shouting continued, but Emily tried not to hear it. She collapsed onto the bed, burying her head under a pillow to drown out the complaints. Her brother, as usual, slammed the door on her like artillery and slipped behind her skirt. It was always that way.
Emilys childhood memories were fuzzy, as if someone had smoothed over the painful bits. She did, however, recall her fifth birthday when Mother baked a raspberry cake because James insisted, even though Emily had asked for chocolate with candles.
The biggest slice for the most precious man in the house! Mother chirped, then glanced at Emily with a wan smile. Youll get a smaller piece. Girls need to watch their figure.
Nothing extraordinary, but James always got the best: toys, trips, gifts, and especially attention. Mother looked at him with adoration, hope, and a soft reverence. Emily felt more like an afterthought attached to her brother.
Father, a traditionalist named Edward, would sigh in those moments, rarely interjecting. He believed a womans place was at home with the children, while a man should earn the bread.
When Emily grew older, she spent most summers at the family cottage with Mother. James, meanwhile, roamed with his mates, barely ever helping despite Mothers occasional pleashed always claim a headache. Emily was expected to help around the house while James dealt with mens business.
Sometimes Father tried to step in late with advice, but the moment was already lost.
Emily, are you trying to raise a domestic cripple? he whispered to Mother when alone. Stop coddling him! A proper man should wash his own socks, make his bed, and cook at least for himself.
What? I dont see you doing any of that, Mother retorted. Let the lad live peacefully while hes with us. Hell have time to learn later.
And then what? He wont learn a thing by a snap of his fingers.
Then his wife will have to teach him.
If she refuses to tend to a grown man like a child, we dont need her. Well find someone normal.
That normal turned up quickly. Emily hadnt even turned sixteen when James brought home a wideeyed girl named Hannah. At first she stayed for evenings, then nights, and eventually she moved in for good.
Emily learned of this permanent arrangement when Mother sat her down.
Sweetheart, dont take offense, but young people need space. Youll stay in Jamess room for a while, and hell move in with Hannah.
The prospect horrified Emily. Her room was her sanctuarybooks, posters, a place to breathe. Jamess room was spacious but shared, leaving no room for privacy.
Its not really yours, its oursmums and dadsso youre just using it temporarily, Mother said. Dont dramatise. Theres a bed, a desk, what more do you need?
Emily was speechless for a moment. From the outside it sounded reasonable, but the words felt like a declaration that she owned nothing there, not even a chance for solitude.
Dont touch the child, Father intervened. Let the young ones live as they wish or move out if theyre unhappy. Theyll save up for a flat faster.
You expect our son to sleep on the street? Mother snapped. What if something happens to him? I wont forgive you!
Mother painted the worstcase scenarios, and Father, overwhelmed, gave in. That day Emily finally shifted her belongings to another room.
As shed feared, her personal life evaporated. James mocked her posters, Mother tried to peek at her laptop chats, and soon the future sisterinlaw pilfered her cosmetics without asking. Conflict after conflict, and Emily always got the blame. She felt like a spare part in her own family.
Soon she fled to Grandma Ethels house. Ethel was blind in one eye and moved slowly, but caring for the kindly old lady felt better than being a silent piece of furniture.
Ethel had been a vet until retirement, loved animals, always carried a sack of feed on walks, and never let anyone inside.
I dont want them to get attached to me, shed say. And I dont want to get attached myself. I cant afford my own meds, and animals are a responsibility. If you take one in, feed, treat, and love it, or dontdont bring it home at all.
Emily and Ethel lived together for almost ten years. To avoid burdening her, Emily studied and worked. Beside Ethel, she realised she too wanted to be a vet.
When Ethel passed, the flat went to Emily. She should have been happy, but emptiness gnawed at her. Friends were busy with their own families. She craved someone by her side to hug when she needed it.
The word family still meant trouble to her. Animals were different. She ended up with two cats: Milo, whod been rescued after a failed operation that left him unable to stand on his hind legs, and Ginger, who joined a year later because Milo was lonely.
Both cats were frailMilos kidneys, Gingers stomach. Their specialist food cost a pretty penny, but Emily took on the duty. The love and affection they gave back made the expense seem trivial.
James, however, had other ideas.
One day he brought a rat home. The kids wanted a pet, a hamster was rejected, and the rat seemed the cheapest option. No one thought about proper care, and the animal fell ill. While Emily was trying to explain that a cage should be at least three times the rats size, a delivery man arrived with cat food.
£1,270, please, he said as he hauled the bags inside.
James raised an eyebrow. Twelve hundred? Thats a third of my salary. Theyve stuffed gold in there, havent they?
James never managed to save for a flat. After his first child was born, he moved with the family into a cramped council room, later adding a second son.
This is veterinary feed, Emily said calmly. And its on discount.
James shook his head but let the subject drop. Later, on Emilys birthday, Mother arrived with a cake.
Emily was left alone, the house quiet. Relatives had gone, and honestly she felt a bit relieved. She hadnt really wanted to spend the day with them, but breaking with tradition is never easy.
Milo, sensing her mood, padded over, nudged his damp nose against her cheek and started purring. Ginger followed, licking her clenched fists. Their soft rumblings eased the tension. They couldnt speak, but in their gentle presence Emily found the unconditional support her family never gave her.
The phone rang. It was Father.
Emily, Im sorry how things turned out, he said, weary. I dont get the whole cat thing, it isnt my world. But digging into your pocket isnt right either. Theyre not all bad.
His words were like a bandage over a fresh wound. He didnt condemn her or excuse Mother. Perhaps, had he been a bit more involved, none of this would have happened. Still, Emily was grateful for his call.
Later, Lucy, Emilys best friend, called.
Happy birthday, love! Hows it going? Howd you celebrate?
Silence answered, then a strained Thanks, fine. Lucy knew her friend well enough to read between the lines.
Dont get too down. Ill be over in an hour, she said, hanging up before Emily could protest.
An hour later, the flat erupted in chaos. Milo and Ginger dove under the bed in terror as Lucy, her husband Anton, and two other friends barged in shouting Happy birthday! carrying pizza boxes, bottles of wine, andmost importantlya massive, multilevel cat tree.
This is for your fur babies, so they dont get bored, Lucy announced.
The family gathering felt like a draft of something genuine, far removed from the cold, obligatory gatherings of kin. The noise, laughter, toasts, and silly speeches saved Emilys birthday. They accepted her as she was, unlike the bloodrelatives.
The guests lingered well past midnight. Lucy stayed to help clean up.
How do you feel? Better? she asked softly.
Emily managed a smile.
Better. Thanks. Youre the best.
Milo slept on a cushion under the table, Ginger perched on a chair. Their new cat tree stood proudly in the lounge, and Lucy, who had to work the next day, washed dishes beside her.
In that moment Emily realised family can be important, but it has to be the right one. She hadnt been lucky with the family she was born into, and that was fine. You can always build your ownpeople who purr in your ear when you cry, who burst into your home at night knowing youre hurting. That kind of family is stronger than any blood tie, because its bound not by duty or guilt, but by love.
