My husband issued an ultimatum: Its me or your cats. So I helped him pack his bags.
Look at this jacket, Alice! Have you seen how much cat hair is on it? I picked it up from the cleaners just yesterday and now I look like Ive spent the night at an animal shelter. How much more am I supposed to put up with this?
Davids voice had that sharp, shrill tone it had developed over the last several months at the slightest inconvenience. I was at the cooker flipping pancakes when I heard him storming about. I let out a heavy sigh, turned off the hob, and faced him. David stood dramatically in the hall holding out his navy jacket, as if presenting evidence in a court case. Indeed, a few white hairs clung to the lapel.
David, please, must you shout? I asked, wiping my hands on my apron. Ive told you not to drape your things on the armchair in the lounge. You know George likes to nap there. Hang your jackets up straight away and you wont have to worry about fur. Here, let me tidy it up.
I took the sticky roller from the table in the hall and whisked away the offending hairs. The jacket looked perfect once more. But Davids scowl remained, and he recoiled from my touch as if Id hurt him, brushing himself down with exaggerated disgust.
Its not about the wardrobe, Alice! Its the fact that living in this place is impossible you cant sit on the sofa, you cant step on the rug. I come home to relax, not to sidestep bowls, litter trays and scratching posts! Youve turned our home into a zoo!
I didnt retort. That lump of hurt inside me had become all too familiar. Our home as if. The spacious three-bedroom flat in a Victorian terrace belonged to me, inherited from my grandmother long before David ever appeared. Hed arrived with one suitcase and a laptop, just after our wedding five years ago. Back then, he hadnt seemed bothered by my lazy tom George or shy little tricolour Matilda. He even used to scratch George behind the ears and say pets made a place feel homely.
But the honeymoon period faded, and reality set in. David revealed himself to love order the sterile kind youd expect in a hospital and to expect all attention to be on him.
David, there are only two cats, I reminded him as I went to pour his coffee. And theyve been here much longer than you have. Theyre family.
Family! he scoffed, seating himself at the table. Theyre animals, Alice! Parasites. All they do is scoff food and sleep. Do you know how much I saw you spent on their food? I checked the receipt you left out. Thirty pounds! On biscuits for cats! Yet you say we need to save for a holiday.
Its the specialist kind, George has a kidney problem, you know that, I said, placing his coffee before him. And I pay for it with my wages. I dont touch your money.
Its all our money! he snapped, slamming his palm on the table until the teaspoon rattled. If you waste your salary on that, it means youre not buying our food. I end up having to buy the meat and veg. Its simple maths!
I found myself looking at a man I barely recognised petty, always dissatisfied. I knew work had been rough; his department was changing and he was worried about losing his job. But he only seemed to take it out on me and the poor animals.
Just then, George strode in, claws clicking on the hardwood floor a big, fluffy cat with wise green eyes. He leaned against my legs and mewed, his way of asking for breakfast.
Out! David shouted, stamping his foot.
George scattered in fright, skidding on the laminate and, trying to steady himself, caught Davids trouser leg with his claws. There was an awful tearing sound.
The silence that followed was sharper than broken glass. Davids gaze dropped to his trousers a brand new pair, now boasting a fresh snag.
Thats it, he whispered, and my whole body went icy with dread. That was the final straw.
He jumped up, knocking over his chair, his face blotching red.
Ive put up with it for five years! Fur in my soup, stink from the litter trays, those races at three in the morning! But ruining my clothes? Alice, this ends here.
I froze, hands pressed to my chest. George had already scarpered under the settee in the living room, and Matilda up until then snoozing peacefully on the windowsill pricked up her ears, alert.
What do you mean? I asked quietly.
Its me or those things pick one, he demanded, staring me down. I want them gone by the time I get home from work. Give them to your mum, kick them out, dump them at a shelter I dont care. But I will not live with them. Im a man, I deserve some respect!
Are you being serious? Over a pair of trousers?
Its not the trousers! Its your attitude! You love those fleabags more than me. Prove me wrong. Ill be checking this evening.
He grabbed his briefcase, left his coffee untouched and stormed out so hard the calendar crashed from the wall.
There I stood in the kitchen, my mind in a fog. I picked up the calendar, put it back, sat down and broke into tears. Not out of heartbreak, more with a kind of helpless anger. How could he? How could someone ask you to betray those who rely completely on you? George was twelve, an old gent who needed special care. Matilda was so timid shed never last outside.
George poked his head out from under the settee, made sure the noisy man had gone, then hopped up onto my lap, purring as loud as a car engine. I pressed my face into his thick fur.
Ill never let you go, I whispered. Dont be daft.
The rest of the day drifted past unnoticed. I called in sick; there was no way I could work. I pottered about, moved things from shelf to shelf, watered plants, tried to think.
I remembered when David kicked Matilda last winter, swearing he hadnt seen her but Id seen his foot pause first. I remembered him banning the cats from the bedroom, so they scratched forlornly at the door all night, not understanding why theyd been stopped from coming in. I remembered his constant moaning about money, though I made as much as he did, and the flat and bills were all mine to begin with.
By lunchtime, the fog cleared. Ice-cold clarity took its place. This ultimatum wasnt just a fit of temper, but a test. The sort of person willing to make you choose between them and helpless creatures doesnt deserve either. Today it was the cats. Tomorrow it could be my ageing mum. One day, if I became inconvenient, itd be me.
At four, I checked the time. David would be home at seven. Plenty of time.
In the bedroom I pulled the big suitcase down off the wardrobe the same one we took to Spain two years ago. I dusted it off, unzipped it; it stood there gaping, ready to swallow up a life.
I packed his things calmly: suits first, then shirts, jumpers, jeans, everything folded neatly. And as I packed, I faltered was this the right thing? Was it just a rough patch? Maybe I should try to compromise? But then I remembered his eyes that morning: cold, contemptuous. Useless parasites. You cant reason with selfishness.
Socks and pants went in the side pockets when the doorbell rang. My heart raced. But David had his own key. Peeping through the peep hole, I saw Mrs. Harris from next door, always stopping by for a chat or a pinch of caster sugar.
Alice, love, she started the moment I opened the door. I saw your fella storm out this morning row, was it? Are you alright, dear? You look pale.
Im fine, Mrs. Harris, I replied serenely. Just sorting out a domestic issue.
Oh, good. Do come round for a cuppa later Ive baked a pie.
Thank you, I might pop round.
I shut the door and got back to packing. His shelf in the bathroom: toothbrush, razor, aftershave, deodorant. Into a washbag they went. Shoes boots, trainers, slippers.
By six, the hallway held two suitcases and a holdall. The flat suddenly felt bigger, lighter as if something rotten had been cut out.
I made myself a cup of mint tea, filled the cats bowls full to brimming, and sat in the armchair to wait. George stretched across my feet, Matilda curled up at my side.
At quarter past seven, the front door scraped open. David was puffing from the climb up five flights of stairs (the lift had been out for weeks).
Well? came his triumphant call from the hall. Youve come to your senses? Where are those furry nightmares? Out on the street, I hope?
He didnt even remove his shoes as he entered the lounge and froze.
There I sat, tea in hand, while George even deigned to half-open an eye at the arrival before closing it again, unmoved.
I dont understand, David said, his face reddening. Are you deaf? I told you: them or me. Are you looking for trouble?
I heard you perfectly well, David, I said, calmly putting my cup down. And Ive made my choice.
So where is it? Why are these animals still here?
Because its their home. Yours is waiting in the hall.
He blinked, then strode to the hall. I heard him blundering over his bags.
Whats this? His voice went shrill.
He returned, his expression no longer self-assured, but frightened.
Youve packed my things? Youre throwing me out? Over some cats?!
Not over the cats, David. Because you gave me a choice you should never have made. Someone who loves you finds solutions, not ultimatums. You wanted me to bend, to submit, to show your power. Power over what? A woman and two harmless cats? Thats not strength; thats weakness.
You must be mad! he bellowed. Youre a woman over forty! Whos going to want you especially with a load of cats? I put up with you, provided for you! Youll come crawling back within a week! Youll be lost without me.
The flats mine. I have a good job. I wont be cooking, cleaning, or clearing up after a grown man anymore. No one to set my nerves on edge. Honestly, David, I think Ill cope just fine. In fact, I might finally get a rest.
Fine! he lunged at me, but George leapt to all fours, arched his back and let out a guttural growl. David, startled, backed away.
Suit yourself! he spat. Die alone, cuddled up to your fleabags! Ill find a real woman who knows how to value me!
He stormed out. I heard him struggling with the suitcases.
Wheres my laptop?! he shouted.
In the side pocket of the bag.
And my paperwork?
Top of the suitcase, in its folder. I made sure everythings there. Even packed your favourite mug.
My calm drove him mad. If Id screamed or thrown things, hed have felt in control. But my calmness just choked his pride.
He muttered in the hall a while, perhaps hoping Id run after him or beg. I didnt move.
Finally, the front door slammed this time for good. The echo died away; soon after, I heard the wheels of his suitcase trundling down the communal hallway.
I sat quietly and waited for some terrible feeling to form: pain, fear, regret. But mostly I just felt warm relief as if Id finally dropped a bag of stones Id been dragging for ages.
George padded over and butted my hand gently. I scratched his ears.
Well, my brave lad, I smiled. Weve cleared out the bad spirits, havent we?
Matilda, emboldened, leapt up and curled into my lap.
Within an hour, my phone rang David appeared on the screen. I grimaced, blocked his number, then promptly changed his contact to David Ex, before deciding I didnt need the number at all.
I went to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of wine that had been lurking in the cupboard since Christmas, and made a cheese sandwich. I felt at ease. Tomorrow would probably be difficult: perhaps David would call, demand to talk, try to manipulate, maybe attempt to argue about our so-called shared possessions (though, really, we owned nothing more than a handful of old saucepans between us and his car was on finance). But that was for tomorrow.
Tonight, I was at peace, at home. I could hang my jacket wherever I pleased, drop crumbs on the carpet without anyone losing their temper, and cuddling a cat was no longer an offence.
The bell rang again. I tensed, but the sound was gentle unmistakably not Davids style.
It was Mrs. Harris on the step, holding a pie under a dish towel.
Alice, dear, Ive just baked a cabbage pie. Still warm. Heard your chap with his bags is he off on business?
I looked at her kind face, at the steaming pie, and then back at my two cats, peering out from the hall.
No, Mrs. Harris, I said, smiling as I took the dish. Not business. Hes moved out. For good. Please, come in for a cup of tea. I have plenty of free time now, and its rather quiet here at last.
The evening was lovely. We drank tea, ate pie, the cats purred, and for the first time in years, I felt truly, flawlessly happy. I learned something simple but life-changing: Loneliness isnt being home alone with cats. Real loneliness is living with someone who doesnt care and betraying yourself a little more each day just to please them.
And the next day, I booked my cats into the local groomer. They deserved to look their best after all, it was thanks to them Id managed to clear out the real rubbish from my life.
