When Evelyn Hart was twelve she faced an operation. A routine, scheduled procedure: an hour under anaesthetic, simple manipulations and discharge the very same day. Properly I should have gone with her, but she insisted I stayed. She knew I was busymy own project of opening a new office in Birmingham loomed on the horizon.
Everything will be fine, she said, planting a kiss on my cheek, slipping a few sachets of cat food for the cellar cats into my bag, then darting out the door.
I straightened my tie, gave one last scrutinising glance in the mirror, grabbed the folder containing the latest marketshare report, and drove off to the office. As chief executive of Whitaker Enterprises, a firm I had steered into market leadership over the past few years, I was expected to give my all. And I didevery spare minute, every idle hour. I soothed myself with the thought that it was for them, for her, even for the cellar cats she never ceased feeding.
It was not that I disliked cats; it was simply Evelyns hobby, which to me seemed a pointless, frivolous pastimenothing more than a quirk to tolerate, much as one tolerates the flaws of a beloved partner. Consequently, every time she tried to bring stray, fleainfested kittens home, I answered with a firm refusal. Theres no sense in it, I would say. No benefit, no purpose. Perhaps a pedigree cat would suit us bettersomething with a bit of status, a touch of decorum. The cellar cats, however, I could not understand, and Evelyn was weary of explaining.
Operation simple scheduled nothing extraordinary I should have gone with her!!!
How many times did I repeat that mantra in the span of a week? A thousand? Ten thousand? I raced to the hospital, abandoning everything, clinging to the white coat of the surgeon, trembling at the doctors steady gaze. I tore the hated project file to shreds, pleading with my knees at the bedside, forehead pressed to her hand, begging her not to give up.
But she stayed silent. Neither of us imagined that a routine hour of anaesthetic could turn into a battle for her very life.
Were doing everything we can, the surgeon tried to assure me.
Youre doing nothing! I snapped, helpless, paying for her transfer to a private ward.
There is a chance; we must wait, the nurse soothed.
Wheres that chance? I shouted down the corridor when, a week later, she still lay unmoving.
I exhausted every avenue: consultations with top specialists, music, endless conversation. I flooded her ward with flowers, even skipped work to be by her side whenever a moment freed itself. I begged, bargained, promised, even threatened. In fleeting moments of desperation I kissed her, recalling the absurd fairytale of the sleeping beauty, and each passing day sank me deeper into despair, into a feral rage that wanted to smash everything in its path.
A overturned chair, a shattered vase, a bag flung aside in a fit of fury, its colourful packets of cat food spilling across the floor. She never got to feed those useless catsthose very cats that had only ever drawn my concealed disdain, hidden behind a façade of indifference.
What a fool! Lord, what a fool!
If only I could turn back time, erase the missteps, crawl back on my knees beside her and rescue those cats, love themfor the sake of just one more moment.
The surge of adrenaline faded unnoticed. I stared at the mess Id made, trembling hands gathering the scattered sachets, preparing to stand at the cellar door in ten minutes time.
This is called feline therapy, the doctor said seriously, watching me haul in a sixth carrier for the patients cats. Only a handful of documented cases exist for situations like ours.
So well be pioneers, I managed, releasing the animals from their cages.
Theyre her cats, you understand? Hers! Id give the world to tell her that. Just just to let her know.
Ill inform the staff, the nurse replied.
Thank you I should have done this sooner Do you see? I
Never lose hope. We all learn from our mistakesremember that.
I wont forget I wont ever forget again.
When the operation finally came, it was again a simple, scheduled affair: an hour under anaesthetic, uncomplicated work, discharge that very day. Evelyn, as always, did not demand my presence, yet she could not hide the bright smile that blossomed when she watched me, after loosening my cravat, fumble with the sixth harness for the reluctant, darting cats.
Her cellar catsthe same fleariddled felines whose weight had once nearly crushed her a year earlier, forcing a breath she could not comprehend. Seven pairs of eyes drilled into her, six relieved sighs barely audible, and one triumphant, joyfilled cry she would never forget.
Perhaps that is why, now that she must endure the ordeal once more, she feels no fear. Seeing her exhausted husband, strands of cat hair clinging to his shirt, looking at her with a reproachful glance, she smiles even wider.
And then she laughs, genuinely, at the passing onlookers. A gentleman in an expensive suit, surrounded by six mixedbreed yet impeccably groomed cats, each pulling a thin leash in a different direction, filling the street with a chorus of indignant Meow?a sight not for the fainthearted.
The operation, a man in the hospital courtyard declares softly, surrounded by his cats, a slightly chewed yet still lovely bouquet of roses resting on his knee, is simple, scheduled, an hour under anaesthetic, uncomplicated work and discharge the same day. And if you keep biting off more than you can chew, next time youll stay at home!
He glances at his watch, readjusts the six colourful leads, checks that none have loosened, then looks toward the windows of the ward where Evelyn now stirs after her surgery. Soon they will be allowed to visit. He will finally be able to complain about the six tailwagging idlers who refuse to listen to him without her.
He will tell her how he loves her, and will love her forever, even when she spends days in the feline sanctuary his company financed months ago.
A fool, perhaps Yet recalling the day she first opened her eyes, he is convincedwhile she is near, there is nothing more important in his life than that delightful, infuriating woman. And so he will continue to pursue those fleeting, absurd whims that somehow make her extraordinarily happy.
Always, while it is still not too late.
