My husband delivered his ultimatumme or your catsso I helped him pack his bags.
Cat hair again! Just look at this jacket, Edith! I only picked it up from the dry cleaner yesterday, and now it looks as if I’ve been sleeping at an animal shelter. How much longer am I meant to put up with this?
Jamess voice wasnt simply sharpit had developed that shrill, peevish edge over the past six months, no matter the occasion. Edith stood at the hob, flipping crumpets with methodical care. She sighed, switched off the gas, and turned to face her husband. He stood in the hallway, arms rigidly outstretched, waving his navy jacket, where indeed a few white cat hairs clung to the lapel.
James, must you shout?she asked quietly, rubbing her hands on her apron. I asked you not to leave your suit on the armchair in the lounge. You know Lord Whiskers likes napping there. If youd just hang things straight in the wardrobe, thered be no fur. Let me clean it.
She approached, picked up the lint rolleralways kept on the hall table for moments like theseand went gently over the jacket. It was pristine once more. But James recoiled, as if shed pricked him, dusting off his sleeve with exaggerated disgust.
Its not about the wardrobe, Edith! Its that youve filled this flat with your… animals. Dont sit here, dont step there, or youll run into feed bowls and scratching posts. I come home to unwind, not negotiate a maze of litter trays! Youve turned our home into a ruddy menagerie!
Edith kept silent, that old knot of indignation swelling in her chest. Our home, he called it. The spacious three-bed flat in an old Victorian house with high ceilings belonged to Edith, inherited from her gran years before James came along. Hed moved in five years ago with just a suitcase and a laptop, smitten with Edith and utterly charmed by Lord Whiskers, a majestic British Shorthair, and timid Patch, her anxious calico. Back then, James scratched Whiskers behind the ears and mused aloud that pets made the flat feel like a home.
The honeymoon was short. Once routine set in, James revealed a love for orderneat as a surgery theatreand attention reserved solely for himself.
There are only two cats, James,she reminded him, pouring his coffee in the kitchen. And theyve been here longer than you. Theyre family.
Family?he snorted, settling at the table. Theyre useless parasiteseat, sleep, shed, repeat. By the way, have you seen the price of their food? I peeked at your receipt yesterdaythirty pounds! For cat biscuits! While you tell me to pinch pennies for our holiday!
Its prescription food. Lord Whiskerss kidneys,Edith set down his mug. I pay for it from my wages. I never touch yours.
Its our budget!he barked, slapping the table. The teaspoon clinked. If youre pumping your money into cat chow, thats less for groceries. Means Im left to buy the meat and veg. Simple sums, Edith.
She looked at him, searching for traces of the man who once brought her daffodils and recited poetry. Instead, here sat a petty, perpetually aggrieved grumbler. She knew his work was strainedhis department downsized, and James feared redundancybut he vented his frustrations on her and her silent animals.
At that moment, Lord Whiskers padded into the kitchen, claws clicking on the wood floor. Large, plush, and sage-eyed, he wound round Ediths feet, meowing for breakfast.
Get out!James bellowed, stamping his foot.
The cat sprang away, skittering on the wood, catching Jamess trouser leg in a claw. The cloth tore with a sharp snap.
A strange hush filled the room. James stared, disbelieving, at his expensive grey trousersa neat snag, growing into a small hole.
Thats it,he breathed, voice frosty enough to chill Edith inside.
He lurched up, knocking over his chair. Red blotches speckled his face.
I endured five years of this! Fur in food, reek from litter, those accursed midnight scrambles! But when my things are ruinedEdith, this is the last straw.
Edith froze, clutching her chest. Lord Whiskers, sensing disaster, slid under the lounge sofa. Patch, pressed to the window ledge, perked her ears.
What straw, James?she whispered.
Its me or them,he enunciated, eyes locked on hers. You choose. By tonight, when I get home, I dont want a trace of those two here. Drop them round your mums, toss them outside, call a shelterdont care. I wont live with them one minute more. Im a man and deserve some respect!
Are you serious?Edith could barely believe it. Youre giving me an ultimatum… because of your trousers?
Not the trousers! Your priorities! You care for those flea bags more than your husband. Well, prove me wrong. Ill check tonight.
He grabbed his satchel, coffee forgotten, and burst out the doorshutting it so hard the wall calendar toppled.
Edith stood bewildered in the kitchen, ears ringing. She mechanically replaced the calendar, then sat and sobbednot from heartbreak, but a tired, helpless ache. How could he? How do you betray those who rely on you? Whiskers was twelve now, needing special care. Patch barely braved her own shadow, let alone the outside world.
Lord Whiskers poked out from under the sofa. Seeing the loud one gone, he came to Edith, balancing on his hind legs and placing velvet paws in her lap, gazing up earnestly. His purr shook the silenceloud and steady, calming as a distant engine. Edith buried her face in his plush fur.
Id never give you up,she whispered. Dont be silly.
The day drifted by in a fog. Edith called into her work, took unpaid leave, citing “feeling unwell.” Her thoughts wandered, as she watered the potted ivy and rearranged furniture in the strange, muffled flat.
She remembered when James had kicked Patch six months earlier, claiming he hadnt seen hera lie Edith recognised. His rule to ban cats from the bedroom, the scratching at closed doors, confused. Perpetual gripes about money, though Ediths salary was equal, and the flat, bills, all hers.
By lunchtime, the fog partedreplaced with an icy clarity. Jamess ultimatum wasnt some angry outburst; it was a litmus test. A person who can force you to choose between loving them and caring for vulnerable creatures deserves neither. Today, cats were his obstacle; tomorrow it might be Ediths ageing mum; the next day, Edith herself, should she ever become inconvenient.
She glanced at the clock. Four in the afternoon. James would return at seven. Ample time.
Edith headed for the bedroom, hauled down the big wheeled suitcase from the wardrobethe same one they took to Malta two years ago. Dust off, zip openits emptiness ready to swallow someone elses world.
She packed methodically, almost serenely. Suits first. Trousers, jackets, shirts. Then sweaters. Jeans.
For a moment, fear flickered. Was she overreacting? Was this just a rough patch? Should they talk, find middle ground? But she recalled Jamess eyes that morningcold, sneering. Parasites. No, you cant reason with self-importance.
She slid socks and pants into the side pockets. A knock rattled the door. Ediths heart skippedcould James be back already? But he had keys. She peered through the spyhole. It was Mrs. Barker, the friendly neighbour, often popping round for sugar or a chat.
Edith opened up.
Hello, love,Mrs. Barker babbled. Saw your chap storm out earlierglass nearly rattled. All alright? Sounded like a right barney…
All fine, Mrs. Barker,Edith replied evenly. Just sorting the living arrangements, you know.
Ah, well, glad to hear. You look a bit pale though. Pop round for tea later, Ive baked a Victoria sponge.
Thanks, I might just do that.
Door shut, Edith continued. Bathroom shelfhis toothbrush, razor, expensive aftershave, deodorantall into the washbag. Shoes. Boots, trainers, slippers.
By six, two suitcases and a bulky sports holdall waited in the hallway. The flat felt bigger; emptier. Or, perhaps, as though a long-lodged tumour had been excised.
Edith made herself a mint tea, spoons of kibble in the cat bowls, and settled into the lounge armchair. Whiskers curled at her feet, Patch climbed onto the armrest.
At 7:15, the key grated in the lock. Edith didn’t move. She heard James pantinga sure sign hed scaled five flights; the lift always broke.
Well?he called from the hall, triumphant as a returning general. So? You made the sensible choice, darling? Where are those fur bags? Ditched, I hope?
He strode into the lounge, shoes still on, and froze.
Edith, serene with her teacup. The cats in place, Whiskers barely flicking an eye open to show his utter indifference to the loud one.
I dont understand,James sputtered, cheeks flushing. Are you deaf? I was crystal clear: me or the cats. Are you testing me?
I heard perfectly,Edith replied, placing her cup down. I made my choice.
So? Where are they? Why are they still here?
Because this is their home. Your choice is packed, in the hall.
James blinked, turned, and tripped over a suitcase.
Whats this?his voice slipped to a squeak.
Returning to the room, fear and disbelief in his eyes.
You… you packed my things? Youre throwing me out? Over cats?!
Not for the cats, James. Because you made me choose. If you loved me, youd seek a solution. You prefer control. Over a woman and two harmless pets? Thats not strength, thats weakness.
Youve lost it!he yelled. Youre old, Edith! Wholl want you with a troupe of cats? I supported you, put up with you! Give it a weekyoull crawl back, begging! Youll be lost alone!
The flats mine, my jobs solid,Edith counted off on her fingers. No more cooking, cleaning or fussing for a grown man. No more nerves frayed. Honestly, James, Ill be fine. Ill finally relax.
Right!he lunged, but Lord Whiskers suddenly puffed up, arched, and cut loose a deep, growly warning. Fur bristling, he startled James back.
Fine!James snarled. Stay with your bloody cats! Ill find a proper woman, one who appreciates me! Youll rot here, lonely, you mad old bat!
He dashed to the corridor. Edith listened to him cursing and trundling suitcases.
Wheres my laptop?he called.
In the holdall, side pocket,she replied.
And my papers?
In the top of your case. I packed everything. Even your favourite mug.
Her calm infuriated him; hed prefer a row, sobs, thrown crockeryto revel in his power. But Ediths frosty composure drowned his ego.
He grumbled another minute, probably hoping shed come running, pleading, apologising. Edith sat motionless.
The door slammed, decisively this time. The sound rolled down the stairwell and faded. Suitcase wheels echoed through the tiled foyer.
Edith sat in the silence. She waited for pain, dread, regret. Instead, relief pooled warmly, thick as treacle. As if shed finally shrugged off a backpack heavy with stones.
Whiskers nosed her hand. She scratched his ear.
Well done, protector,she smiled. Chased out the bad spirit, havent we?
Patch, emboldened, pounced from the armrest, curling into Ediths lap.
An hour later, her mobile buzzed. James flashed on screen. Edith winced, pressed block without hesitation, and changed his contact to JamesEx. A moments pausethen she deleted his number entirely.
She strolled to the kitchen, poured a glass of red (left from Christmas), made herself a cheddar sandwich. All felt tranquil. Tomorrow would be toughJames would ring, demand meetings, scheme over dividing possessions, though they had few: his car was on loan, all appliances Edith had before marriage. But that was tomorrow.
Tonight, she was home. In her own home. Where one can drape a jacket over any chair, drop crumbs worry-free, and no one kicks a cat for wanting affection.
The doorbell rang againa gentle, friendly jingle. Certainly not James.
She answered. Mrs. Barker stood on the step, clutching a plate beneath a towel.
Edith darling, I baked a cabbage pie. Still hot. Heard your chap banging suitcasesoff to a conference?
Edith looked at her kindly neighbour, then at the fragrant pie, then at her cats, peering curiously from the hallway.
No, Mrs. Barker,she smiled, accepting the plate. Not a conference. Hes moved out. For good. Come in for a cuppa. Ive plenty of time nowand its ever so quiet.
The evening passed splendidly. Tea, pie, cat-purrs. For the first time in five years, Edith felt perfectly, wholly happy. She grasped a simple truth: solitude is not living alone with cats. Solitude is being with someone who couldnt care less, betraying yourself daily just to earn scraps of their approval.
Next day, she booked the cats for a pampering at the grooming parlour. Let them look handsometheyd earned it. After all, theyd helped her sweep the biggest bit of rubbish out of her life.
