My dear, its me or your cats! he declaredand with that, I kindly helped him pack his suitcase.
Cat hair! Again! Emma, look at my jacket! I just picked it up from the dry cleaners yesterday, and now it looks as though Ive spent the night rolling around in a cattery. How much longer am I supposed to put up with this?
Jamess voice had a shrill pitch to it, that special kind of irritation hed developed in the past six months, over the tiniest of things. Emma, flipping pancakes at the stove, sighed, turned off the hob, and faced the man shed once thought a catch. James stood in the hallway, holding up his navy blazer like it was evidence in a criminal trial, squinting at the suspicious presence of three white cat hairs on the lapel.
James, do you have to shout? she replied calmly, wiping her hands on her apron. Ive asked you not to hang your jacket on the armchair. Thats where Arthur loves to nap. Just put it away in the wardrobe, and you wont have to deal with this nonsense. Here, let me sort it.
She took the lint roller from the sideboardalways ready for moments like thisand deftly whisked the hairs away, restoring the jacket to pristine condition. But her husbands lips remained pursed as if shed committed treason. He snatched the jacket back, shaking it out with an air of martyrdom.
Its not about the wardrobe, Emma! Its this blasted flat. Your animals are everywhere. Cant sit on the sofa, cant cross the rug. I come home for peace, not to dodge around food bowls, litter trays, and scratching posts. Youve turned the place into a menagerie!
Emma bit back a retort, the familiar ball of resentment swelling in her chest. Our home, did he say? The spacious three-bedroom flatwith glorious Georgian ceilingswas one shed inherited from her nan years before James and his single suitcase ever crossed its threshold five years ago. Back then, whilst wooing her, hed thought nothing of regal Arthur, the British Shorthair, or skittish tricolour Tabby Tilly. He even doted on them, scratching Arthurs ears and declaring animals the soul of a cosy home.
But the moonlight had faded, and the chores, it turned out, required a bit more stamina and less poetic flair. James, it seemed, was a man who preferred his world surgical-theatre tidy and all the attention laser-focused on him.
James, we have two cats. Thats hardly an invasion, Emma pointed out as she poured him a coffee. And theyve lived here longer than you. Theyre family.
Family! he snorted as he slumped at the kitchen table. Theyre freeloaders, Emma. All they do is eat and sleep. Have you even seen what their food costs? I glanced at your Sainsburys receipt yesterdayeighty quid! For cat biscuits! Yet you insist we need to cut back on holidays.
Its prescription food. Arthurs got kidney issues, remember? Emma set his mug down and held his gaze. And I buy it with my salary. Your moneys untouched.
We have a shared budget! James barked, thumping the table so his teaspoon rattled. If youre spending your earnings on overpriced kibble, youre not contributing to the shopping for us! That means Im buying the steaks and vegetables. Its just simple maths!
Emma wondered where the chivalrous man whod once quoted Shakespeare over a bouquet of tulips had disappeared to. All that remained now was a penny-pinching curmudgeon who, with a work crisis loominghis team was being restructured, redundancies rumouredchose to take it out on her and her defenseless pets.
At that moment, Arthur, the chunky blue-grey cat with soulful green eyes, tiptoed in, meowing faintly for breakfast and brushing against Emmas ankle.
Shoo! James howled, stamping his foot.
Arthur, terrified, scrabbled away, claw catching in Jamess very expensive trouser leg. There was an audible rip.
A ringing silence. James glared at the torn spot in disbelief, as if it had personally betrayed him.
Thats it, he breathed, so coldly Emma felt a shiver inside. Thats the last straw.
He shot to his feet, knocking over his chair. Red patches bloomed on his cheeks.
Ive put up with FIVE YEARS of this! Cat hair in my soup, stink from the litter, midnight stampedesand now, my clothes ruined? Emma, Im drawing the line.
Emma froze, hands clutched to her chest. Arthur had already vanished under the settee. Tilly, whod been dozing on the windowsill, now pricked her ears.
What do you mean, James? she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Its me or the cats! Youve got until this evening. When I come back from work, theyre gone. Give them to your mum, up for adoption, the street for all I care. But I refuse to live like this. Im a man, Emma! I deserve respect!
Are you actually serious? She stared at him, stunned. An ultimatum? Over a bloody pair of trousers?
Its not about the trousers! he thundered. Its your attitude. You care more about those flea-ridden animals than your own husband. Prove me wrong. Ill check tonight.
With that, he snatched his laptop bag, storming out so violently the hallway calendar leapt off its hook.
Emma stood rooted to the spot, her mind buzzing. Mechanically, she picked up the calendar and replaced it. Then she sat down and had a good crynot out of heartbreak but frustration and disbelief. How dare he? How could anyone demand she abandon those who depended on her? Arthur was twelve, a pensioner who needed medicine. Tilly was frightened of her own shadow and would last all of five minutes on the streets.
Arthur peered out tentatively from behind the couch. Sensing the loud man was gone, he trotted over, hopped onto her knees, gently kneaded her lap, and purred like a diesel engine. Emma laughed through her tears, burying her face in his soft fur.
Id never give you up, she whispered. Dont be daft.
The day drifted by in a haze. Emma called in sick at workher head wasnt fit for admin or numbers. She watered her plants, rearranged shelves, stewed in her thoughts.
She remembered the time, six months ago, when James had accidentally kicked Tilly for being underfoot at night. Hed claimed not to notice, but shed seen the narrowed look in his eyes. She remembered his no cats in the bedroom decree, leaving them confused and scratching at the closed door. She remembered the way he moaned about bills (even though she earned just as much as he did) and tried to act as if the flather flatwas his.
By lunchtime, the fog had cleared. Cold logic prevailed. This ultimatum wasnt a flare-up. It was a litmus test. Any man who could issue a me or your animals challenge could one day object to an ageing parent. Or, heaven forbid, to Emma herself if she ever became inconvenient.
She glanced at the clock. Quarter past four. James would be back by seven. Plenty of time.
She fetched the big wheeled suitcase from above the wardrobethe one from their Turkey holiday, gathering dust since. Popped it open. Empty, ready for someone elses life.
Emma packed methodically: suits, shirts, neat piles of jumpers, jeans. A flicker of doubt made her hesitate. Maybe this was a blip? Perhaps they could talk? But then she saw those eyescold, contemptuous. Useless parasites, hed called her pets. No, you cant negotiate with entitlement.
Anything of his in the bathroomshaver, aftershave, toothbrushwas swept into a washbag. Shoes by the door? In they went: winter boots, trainers, even his tartan slippers.
Six oclock: two suitcases and a sports bag stood sentinel in the hallway. The flat seemed suddenly wider, lighter, as if a malignant growth had been excised.
Emma made herself a cup of peppermint tea, filled the cats bowls to the brim, and sank into the living room armchair. Arthur curled up at her feet, Tilly perched on the armrest, eyes bright.
At 7:15 came the telltale scraping of keys. Emma stayed put, hearing his heavy breathingprobably the lift was broken again, and hed climbed five flights in a sulk.
Well? he bellowed from the hall, triumphant. Done the right thing, eh? Are the fur monsters gone? Hope you dumped them in a bin!
He strode into the lounge, shoes onand stopped, slack-jawed.
There was Emma and the cats. Arthur cracked open one eye, then closed it again, entirely unimpressed.
I dont understand. Jamess face darkened. Are you deaf? It was me or them. Youre playing with fire, Emma.
I heard you perfectly, she replied, placing her mug down. And Ive made my choice.
Oh? Where are they then? Why are they still here?
Because this is their home. Your choice is in the hallway.
He blinked, fumbled into the corridor, and promptly tripped over a suitcase.
What the? his voice cracked.
James reappeared, no longer brimming with self-importance but looking alarmed, betrayed.
Youve packed my things? For real? Youre throwing me outfor a pair of cats?!
Not for the cats, James. Because you forced me to choose. Someone who loves you doesnt issue ultimatums. Someone who loves you solves problems. But you wanted power, to win, to show off. Over what, exactly? A woman and two defenseless animals? Thats not strength. Thats cowardice.
Youre mad! he yelled, gesturing wildly. Youre over forty, Emma! Whod want you, dragging around a couple of moggies? I kept you, I tolerated you! Walk away and youll be begging me back within a week! Youll never manage alone!
The flats mine, Ive got a job I like, pays good, she replied, ticking off points on her fingers. No more cooking or cleaning up after a grown man. My nerves can relax at last. Honestly, James, I think Ill be just fine.
Oh, thats how it is, is it? he blustered, approaching her, but Arthur suddenly jumped up, arched his back, and let out a low, threatening growl. His fur stood on end. James nearly tripped over himself, retreating.
Well, stuff you! he spat. Sit here with your flea-ridden menagerie. Ill find a proper woman who appreciates me. Youll rot here alone!
He stormed into the hallway. Emma heard the cumbersome shuffle of suitcases.
My laptop! he shouted.
In the bag, side pocket, she called back.
And my documents?
Top folder. I didnt forget anything. Even shoved in your favourite mug.
Her calm, above all, clearly rattled him. If shed screamed or thrown crockery, he mightve felt like the winner. But her icy courtesy bruised his ego far more deeply.
He mumbled in the hall, perhaps half-hoping shed come running and beg. Emma sat still.
The front door slammeda proper, final slam. The suitcase wheels rattled away down the communal hallway.
Emma sat in the resounding silence, half-expecting to feel panic or regret. Instead, there was a slow, spreading warmth inside, a heavy burden falling away at last.
Arthur nudged her hand. Emma scratched behind his ear.
So, my little lion, she chuckled. Weve finally ousted the ghost of Christmas Misery, havent we?
Tilly, emboldened, hopped down and curled up purring on Emmas lap.
An hour later, the phone rang. The screen flashed Darling. Emma grimaced, hit block, then changed the contact to James Ex. Then, on second thoughts, deleted it entirely.
She padded to the kitchen, poured a glass of wine shed been saving since New Year, made a cheddar sandwich, and took it all in. She knew tomorrow might bring the usual trickscalls, demands about assets (though in truth, the only car was financed by James, and he hadnt bought a single appliance she hadnt paid for). But that was tomorrow.
Tonight, she was at home. Her home. Where you can drape your jacket anywhere, drop crumbs on the carpet, and no ones going to scold a cat for simply wanting affection.
The doorbell chimeda polite, friendly tinkle. Not James, thank goodness.
She opened it to see Mrs. Harris from next door, wielding a steaming plate under a tea towel.
Emma, love, Ive brought over some cabbage pie, fresh from the oven. Heard a bit of a kerfuffle earlier. Your chap off on a business trip?
Emma looked at her kindly neighbour, the plate of pie, then back at Arthur and Tilly, peering round her legs, whiskers twitching.
No, Mrs. Harris, Emma beamed, taking the plate. Not a business trip. Hes moved on. For good. Please, come in for a cuppa. Ive just discovered I have heaps more time on my handsand its lovely and quiet.
The evening was delightful. They swapped stories over tea and pie, the cats swirled around their feet, andfor the first time in five yearsEmma felt wholly and gloriously herself. She realised something simple: solitude isnt sitting alone with cats. True loneliness is living with someone who doesnt care, and letting your heart wither bit by bit, just to win their approval.
Besides, she booked Arthur and Tilly in for a full grooming the very next day. Let them shine, she thoughttheyd just helped her sweep out the biggest mess in her life.
If youve made it this far, thanks for reading. If you felt a kindred spark, Id love a follow, a thumbs-upor drop me a comment.
