My flatmate gave me an ultimatum: I cant take this anymore! he yelled as soon as he saw me walk through the door. Im sick of that old cat! and so, I showed him to the door turns out, he was never the right person for me.
A heavy silence hung in the hallway after he left, the door slamming loudly behind him. His coat was no longer on its hook, the sharp scent of his aftershave had vanished, and the empty space on the shoe rack looked like a piece of someone elses life had been whisked away.
I let out a long breath and looked down at my feet. Curled up there, ears flattened and tail nervously twitching, was Rupert. Fifteen years old, all six kilograms of unwavering loyalty.
Well, old boy, I murmured, crouching down to run my fingers through his once-glossy, now greying fur. Looks like we’ve made it through another storm together.
Rupert answered with a short, reassuring purr.
A Cat With a Story and the Myth of Compromise
James came into my life six months ago. We got on like a house on fire, and before I really noticed, wed agreed to move in together. Rupert wasnt a surprise to him on our dates I often told stories about his quirks, and James always just grinned and nodded. I dont mind animals, he told me.
But Rupert isnt just any cat. I found him as a soaked kitten on a rainy London night. Weve weathered everything together joys, heartbreaks, all those pivotal moments. Hes the silent witness to my life, keeper of all my secrets. Now hes fifteen, living with kidney trouble, strict dietary needs, and the regular visits from the vet that have become part of my world.
The moment James moved in, his supposed affection for animals all but disappeared.
It started innocently enough. Why does he have to sleep at the foot of your bed? Isnt that unhygienic? Why all this money on a vet for a cat? You could always get another one.
I tried to smooth things over: washing sheets more often, buying expensive litter, giving Rupert his medication when James was out. Convinced myself that this, surely, was what working on a relationship really meant.
The Moment of Choice
It was Tuesday, and I was late home from work. James arrived back earlier than usual. When I opened the front door, I was hit by the unmistakable smell of bleach and shouting.
Rupert had been sick on the new rug by the bed, the one James had bought just last week. Not ideal, but hardly the end of the world.
James stood in the bedroom, face flushed with rage, jabbing a finger towards poor Rupert trembling under the bed.
I cant live like this anymore! he shouted the moment he saw me. Ive had enough of that cat!
I hung up my coat in silence and, keeping my voice even, pointed out the obvious.
Hes a living creature. Hes fifteen years old. Hes ill, I said, reaching for the cleaning spray.
I dont care! I want a clean, comfortable place. Choose: me, or that mangy old beast. Either he goes somewhere else, or Im out. Youve got until tonight.
I straightened up, gripping the wet cloth in my hand. James clearly expected tears or pleading. Instead, I found my resolve.
No need to wait until tonight, I said quietly. Your suitcase is in the loft. Youve got fifteen minutes.
Are you serious? Youre choosing a cat over me? You realise youll end up alone at forty with just that creature
Your time has started.
He tore around, shoving his belongings into the case, muttering insults as he went. I kept quiet every word made me surer of my choice. All the while, Rupert sat silently under the kitchen chair, not making a sound.
James closed his case and came back to me.
Rebecca, come on. I didnt mean it. Lets talk this through. What if we leave him with your mum? Seriously, the smell
No, I cut in briskly. Its not about the smell, James. Its about you making me choose.
When I heard the front door lock click, I made my way to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Rupert emerged from his hiding place and pressed his damp nose to my ankle, letting out a quiet, determined meow.
