Better than a Family
Oh, Julia, if you have money you cant spend, why not help your brother? Its madness! Twelve thousand pounds for food! shrieked my mother.
I set my glass down on the table, my lips pressed tight. The relatives kept pressing on me until I could feel nothing left to enjoyno birthday celebrations, no conversation.
Margaret, stop feeding this girl crumbs, Father tried to intervene. Are we celebrating today or what?
Aye, we are, my mother sneered. And later my grandchildren will be shunted into that filthy council flat with the drunken neighbours, while I keep praying nothing terrible befalls them. If you, Julia, gave those twelve thousand pounds to James, he could rent a proper flat instead of a cramped room! Your cats could survive on simple scraps, no need for teatime treats.
Mother, I protested, I took those cats in myself because I wanted them. Im responsible for them. And James is a grown man, thirtyfive now. He must look after himself and the family he, of his own accord, set up.
The grown man curled his lip, slumped back on the settee and turned his back on me with a flourish.
And your family too! Mother raised her voice. Your brother, your nieces and nephews! As for stray cats, take any you like. Weve fed ours with porridge and tinned fish all our lives and its been fine. Yet you treat them like children! Fine, you dont want your own children. If you fancy growing old alone, be my guest. But you cannot pamper your pets while you only see your blood relatives on holidays, like sweets at a feast!
My patience snapped. Years of slights, neglect, the constant devaluation of my feelings burst forth with tears streaming down my cheeks.
These cats are better than a family, I blurted. They love me simply, ask for nothing. And theyll never chastise me for wanting to live my own life.
I could take it no longer. I spun round and stormed to the bedroom, slamming the door with all my strength.
Well see how they love you when you stop buying them trinkets! she called after me. The worlds turned upside down. Some cats are now worth more than parents
Mother kept wailing, but I tried not to hear her. I collapsed onto the bed and buried my head under a pillow, trying to drown out her indignation. My brother simply let Mothers words fall on me like artillery, then hid behind my skirtjust as he always had.
My childhood memories are hazy, as if someone has wiped away the painful bits. Yet I recall my fifth birthday when Mother baked a raspberry cake because James had a craving, even though Id asked for chocolate with candles.
To my dearest gentleman the biggest slice! Mother beamed, then glanced at me with a nowdull sparkle. Youll have a smaller piece. Girls must watch their figure from an early age.
It seemed innocuous, but James always got the best: toys, trips, gifts. Most of all, attention. Mother looked at him with adoration, hope, soft awe. I was merely an appendage to his brother.
Father would sigh in such moments, perhaps protest weakly, but most often he kept his mouth shut. Victor, as he called himself, clung to the oldfashioned view that a womans place was with the children and a mans with work.
When I grew older, I spent most summers at Mothers cottage. James spent his time strolling about and fooling around with his mates. When Mother asked for his helprare indeedhe feigned a headache. I could not use the same excuse; I was a girl, expected to help around the house while James dealt with mens business.
Father tried to intervene late in the upbringing, but the moment had slipped away.
Julia, do you intend to raise a domestic invalid? he whispered to Mother when they were alone. Stop coddling him! A proper man should be able to wash his own socks, make his own bed, even cook for himself.
And? I see no evidence you do any of that, Mother retorted. Let the lad live peacefully while hes with us. Hell have time to get his act together.
And then what? He wont learn a thing by a snap of the fingers!
His wife will have to do it.
If she refuses to fuss over a grown man like a child?
Then we dont need her. Well look for someone normal.
A normal one appeared far too quickly. I wasnt even sixteen when James brought home a girl with wide, naïve eyes. At first she stayed for evenings, then nights, and soon she settled in for good.
I learned of this settling when Mother sat me down.
Darling, dont be upset, Margaret began without preamble, the young need their own space. Youll stay in Jamess room for a while, and he and Alina will move in with you.
I could not accept this arrangement. My room was my sanctuary, my books, my posters they were to be taken away. Jamess room was spacious but shared, leaving no room for privacy.
Mum, but thats my room. Im used to it
Technically it isnt yours, its oursyour fathers and minein the flat we all share. Youre only using it temporarily. Besides, dont dramatise. Theres a bed, a desk, what more do you need?
For a few seconds I was speechless. It sounded reasonable, but the words told me I owned nothing there. Soon I would have no private corner at all.
Julia, dont lay a hand on the child, Father intervened. Let the young live as they wish or leave if theyre unhappy. Theyll save enough for a flat soon enough.
You want my brother out on the streets? Mother shouted. No! And if something happens to him? Ill never forgive you!
Mother painted the bleakest scenarios, and Father quickly fell silent under her pressure. That day I finally moved my things to another room.
As I had feared, my personal life vanished. James mocked my posters, Mother tried to peek at my laptop chats, and the future sisterinlaw pilfered my cosmetics without asking. Conflicts were endless, and I was always blamed. I felt like an unwanted piece of furniture in my own household.
Soon I fled to my grandmothers. She was blind in one eye and moved slowly, but caring for a kindly old lady felt better than being mute furniture in a house that never had a place for me.
Grandmother had been a veterinary surgeon until retirement. She adored animals, always carrying a bag of feed on walks, but let no one into the house.
I dont want them to become attached to me, she would say. And I dont want to become attached myself. I cant even afford my own medicines, let alone the responsibility of animals. Take in a creature, and be kind, feed, treat, give attention; if you cant, dont take it in.
We lived together for nearly ten years, shoulder to shoulder. To avoid burdening her, I studied and worked simultaneously. Beside her, I realised I too wanted to be a vet.
When Grandmother passed, her flat fell to me. I thought I would finally be free, but loneliness gnawed at my soul. Friends came and went with their own families and duties. I longed for someone by my side, someone to hold when the world grew cold.
The word family in my mind still echoed with trouble. Animals were different. In my flat lived two cats: Milo, who had been taken in after a failed euthanasia because as a kitten he couldnt stand on his hind legs, and Rusty, adopted a year later when Milo grew bored of solitude.
Unfortunately their health was poor. Milos kidneys gave way, Rustys stomach failed. I had to buy specialist pet food, which was far from cheap. Yet I shouldered the cost, for the affection they gave me made it feel trivial.
James, however, thought otherwise.
One day he brought a rat over. The children wanted a pet, and a hamster seemed too much work, while a rat was the cheapest option. No one considered proper care, and the creature fell ill. While I tried to explain that its cage should be at least three times its size, a courier arrived with cat food and treats.
Thatll be twelve hundred pounds, he announced as he hauled the bags inside.
James raised an eyebrow and, once the door closed, muttered,
Twelve hundred? Thats a third of my wages. Did they stuff gold in there?
James never managed to save for his own flat. After his first child was born he moved the whole family into a cramped council room, where a second son soon followed.
Its veterinary feed, I said calmly. And its even discounted.
He shook his head, but said no more. The next day, on my birthday, Mother arrived, bearing a cake and a weary smile.
Now I lay alone in silence. The relatives had gone, and, truth be told, part of me welcomed the quiet. I never really wanted to spend the day with them, but breaking with tradition is never easy.
Milo, my first cat, seemed to sense my mood, nudging his wet nose against my cheek and purring. Rusty followed, licking my clenched fists. Their soft rumblings eased the tension. They could not speak, yet in their purrs I found the unwavering support my own family never gave.
The phone rang. It was Father.
Julia, Im sorry it turned out this way he said, weary. You know, I dont quite understand all this cat business. It isnt my thing. But reaching into your purse isnt right either. Theyre all wrong, truly.
His words were like a plaster over a sore spot. He didnt condemn me, nor did he excuse Mother. Perhaps, had he been more involved in family life, none of this would have happened. Still, I was grateful for his call.
Later, another ring. It was my best friend, Claire.
Happy birthday, love! Hows it going? How did you celebrate?
I managed a strained Thanks, its fine. Claire knew me well enough to understand.
Dont wallow, dear. Ill be there in an hour, she said and hung up before I could protest.
An hour later, the flat erupted in chaos. Milo and Rusty darted under the bed in terror as Claire, her husband Anton, and two other friends burst in shouting Happy Birthday!, bearing pizza boxes, bottles of wine, and, the best of all, a huge, multilevel cat tree.
For your furry friends, so they dont get bored, Claire announced.
The gathering felt like a draft of something distant and insignificant compared to the noise, laughter, embraces, and silly toasts that filled the room. Those people rescued my birthday. They accepted me as I was, unlike my blood relatives.
The guests lingered well past midnight. Claire stayed to help clean up.
Feeling better? she whispered later.
I couldnt help but smile.
Much better. Thank you. Youre the best I have.
Milo slept on the cushion beneath the table, Rusty perched on a chair. The new cat tree stood proudly in the lounge. Claire, who had to work the next day, washed dishes beside me.
In that moment I realised that family is indeed important and lovelyif luck is on your side. Luck wasnt on my side with the family I was born into, and that was fine. Because when birthfamily fails, you can always build your own: those who purr beside you when you weep, those who barge in at midnight knowing youre down, and those who bind you not with duty or guilt, but with genuine love.
