My other half issued an ultimatum: Its me or your cats. I helped him pack his bags.
“Look at this jacket again, Sophie! Hair everywhere! I just picked it up from the dry cleaners yesterday, and now it looks like Ive spent the night in an animal shelter. How much longer am I expected to put up with this?”
Jamess voice isnt just annoyed, its tinged with that particular shrillness hes adopted over the past half-year with even the smallest provocations. Sophie, standing by the hob flipping pancakes, lets out a heavy sigh, turns off the ring, and faces her husband. James is stood in the hallway, holding his navy jacket at arms length, a few white hairs visible on the lapel.
“Why are you shouting, James?” she asks calmly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Ive asked you not to hang your things over the chair in the lounge. You know Chester loves sleeping there. Just put it straight in the wardrobe and you wont have an issue. Here, let me clean it.”
She takes the lint roller she keeps on the little table by the door for this very reason, rolls it over the fabric a few times, and the jacket is pristine again. But Jamess face doesnt soften. Instead, he jerks his arm away as if shes hurt him and brushes himself off disdainfully.
“Its not the wardrobe, Sophie! Its this flat! I can barely breathe in here. Everywhere I look, its your pets. Cant sit on the sofa, cant step on the rug. I come home for peace and have to dodge bowls, litter trays, and scratching posts. Youve turned our home into a zoo!”
Sophie bites her tongue, the familiar lump of hurt growing inside her. Our home, he saysstrong words, that. This spacious three-bedroom flat in a Victorian terrace with tall ceilings was Sophies, passed down from her grandmother long before she ever met James. Hed moved in five years ago with just a suitcase and a laptop, back when they married. At the time, the lazy Maine Coon Chester and the timid tortoiseshell Pippa didnt faze him in the slightest. He even fussed over Chester, scratching behind his ears, saying pets made a house feel like home.
But their honeymoon phase wilted, the grind ground them down, and Jamess masks slipped. He proved to be the sort who expects order as sterile as a hospital ward and attention as single-minded as an adoring fan.
“James, its just two cats,” Sophie says, heading back to the kitchen to pour his coffee. “They were here before you. Theyre family.”
“Family!” he scoffs, joining her at the table. “Theyre animals, Sophie. Useless freeloaders who eat and sleep. And has it occurred to you how expensive they are? I saw your receipt on the side£30! For cat biscuits! And you keep telling me we need to save for a holiday.”
“Its a special diet, Chester has kidney issues, you know that,” Sophie replies, setting his cup down. “And I pay for it out of my salary. I dont use your money.”
“We have a joint budget!” he snaps, banging his fist so the teaspoon rattles. “If you spend your paycheque on cat food, then youre not bringing in as much for our food! So then I have to buy the meat and veg. Its not rocket science!”
Sophie looks at him and can no longer see that charming man who once bought her flowers and quoted poetry. In his place now sits a petty, interminably disgruntled grouch. She understands work hasnt been going welltheyve restructured his team and James fears redundancybut all his anger comes home to roost, landing solely on her and the innocent animals.
At that moment Chester pads softly into the kitchen, claws skittering across the wooden floor. Huge and fluffy with wise green eyes, he rubs himself against Sophies legs and mews for breakfast.
“Get out!” James yells, stomping his foot.
The startled cat jumps, skids on the laminate, snags Jamess trouser leg with his claws trying to steady himself, and the fabric gives way with a rip.
For a moment, the air hangs still and sharp. James looks slowly down at the emerging hole in his expensive grey trousers.
“Thats it,” he whispers in a tone so cold Sophies blood chills. “Thats the last straw.”
With a glare, he leaps up, sending the chair clattering. Angry red blotches creep up his neck.
“Five years, Sophie! Ive put up with cat hair in my soup, Ive put up with the smell from the litter, Ive even tolerated their midnight marathons! But ruining my clothes? Enough. I draw the line.”
Sophie stays frozen, hands pressed to her chest. Chester, sensing trouble, disappears under the lounge sofa. Pippa, who had been snoozing on the window ledge, lifts her ears, uneasy.
“What line, James?” Sophie whispers.
“Its me or them,” he hisses, locking eyes. “Choose. Youve got until tonight. By the time Im home, I dont want so much as a whisker left here. Give them to your mum, throw them out, hand them into a shelterI dont care. But Im not living with them any longer. Im a man, I deserve some respect!”
“Are you serious?” Sophie cant believe it. “An ultimatum? Over a pair of trousers?”
“Not just the trousers! Its the principle! You love these fleabags more than your own husband. Prove me wrong. Ill check this evening.”
He grabs his satchel, leaving his coffee untouched, and storms out, slamming the door so hard the calendar tumbles from the wall.
Sophie stands in the middle of her kitchen, mind reeling. She picks the calendar up, hangs it back, then sits and criesnot from heartbreak, but from sheer helplessness and outrage. How dare he? How could anyone demand betrayal of those who rely on you? Chester is twelve, in his twilight years, in need of special care. Pippa is so skittish shed survive mere hours outside.
Chester peeks out from under the sofa. Making sure the shouting human is gone, he strolls over, rises on his hind legs, and gently places his front paws in Sophies lap, peering into her face. With a deep, comforting purr, he reassures her, sounding like a little engine. Sophie buries her face in his fur.
“Im not giving you up to anyone,” she whispers. “Dont be daft.”
The day passes in a haze. Sophie rings work, takes unpaid leave, blames a migraine. She cant concentrate, her thoughts in knots, drifting as she shuffles about, moving things, watering the spider plant, lost in memories.
She remembers James kicking Pippa months ago when she got underfoot in the darkclaiming it was an accident, but Sophie knew better. She remembers him forbidding cats in the bedroom, leaving them to scratch plaintively at the door, not understanding their banishment. She recalls his endless grumbling about money, although Sophie matches his income and pays the mortgage and bills on her own.
By lunchtime, the fog in her mind lifts. A strange, icy clarity takes its place. His ultimatum isnt just some angry outburst; its a test. Someone who makes you choose between loving them and caring for a defenceless creature deserves neither. Today its the cats. Tomorrow itll be her ageing mother. The day after, itll be Sophie herself, if shes ever inconvenient.
She glances at the clockfour oclock. James will be back by seven. She has time.
Sophie heads to the bedroom, pulls out the big roller suitcase from the top of the wardrobethe one they took to Spain two summers agowipes off the dust, unzips it. It sits yawning on the bed, waiting to devour someone elses future.
She packs his things methodically, calmly. First suits, then shirts folded neatly, jumpers, jeans. Suddenly she wavers. Is this the right thing to do? Maybe its just a rough patch. Should she talk it out, find a compromise? But the look in his eyes this morningcold, belittling. “Useless freeloaders.” No, you cant negotiate with selfishness.
She tucks away his socks and underwear in the side pockets, when the doorbell rings. Sophie jumps, thinking for a moment hes home early, but James has his own keys. She peers through the peephole. Its Mrs. Green from next door, who regularly pops round for sugar or a chat.
Sophie opens the door.
“Sophie, love, you alright? I heard raised voices and the door slamming this morning. Everything all right? Youre looking a bit peaky,” Mrs Green chatters.
“All fine, Mrs Green,” Sophie smiles. “Were just sorting out living arrangements.”
“Oh, thats good. I thought something was up. Pop round for tea tonight if you likebaked a lovely pie.”
“Thank you, I will if I can.”
Sophie closes the door and finishes packing. His toiletries shelf in the bathroom: toothbrush, razor, posh aftershave, deodorantall in a wash bag. Shoes: winter boots, trainers, slippers.
By six, two suitcases and a large sports bag are lined up in the hallway. The flat feels differentspacious, yet a little hollow, as though something cancerous has been excised.
She makes herself a cup of mint tea, fills the bowls with cat biscuits until they mound, and curls up in the lounge armchair to wait. Chester sprawls at her feet, Pippa curls up on the armrest.
At 7:15, keys click in the lock. Sophie sits motionless. She hears the door open; James is breathing heavilylikely the lifts out again and hes hiked up all five flights.
“Well?” he calls from the hall, just brimming with smugness. “Have you made the right choice, darling? Where are those mangy things? I hope theyre gone.”
He strides into the lounge, not even removing his shoes, and freezes.
Sophie sits calmly, tea in hand. The cats laze beside her. Chester opens one eye with supreme indifference before shutting it again, broadcasting his disregard for “the loud one.”
“I dont understand,” Jamess face reddens. “Are you deaf? I said its me or them. Are you trying my patience?”
“I heard you just fine, James,” Sophie says quietly, placing her cup on the coffee table. “And Ive made my choice.”
“So where is it? Why are the animals still here?”
“Because this is their home. Yours is packed, waiting in the hall.”
James blinks, startled, shuffles off to the hallway. Sophie hears his foot connect with a suitcase.
“Whats this?” his voice cracks.
Now, his face isnt triumphant, but scared and hurt.
“You you packed my things? Youre kicking me out? For cats?!”
“Not for cats, James. For giving me an ultimatum. People who love you dont do that. People who love you find solutions. You wanted to control me, to prove youre bossover a woman and two innocent animals. Thats not strength. Thats weakness.”
“Youre mental!” he shouts, arms waving. “Youre forty, for Gods sake! Whos going to want you with two cats in tow? I looked after you, tolerated you! Youll be begging for me back in a week. Youll be lost on your own!”
“This flats mine. Ive got my job, my salarys strong,” Sophie rattles off, ticking her fingers. “No more cooking, cleaning, or picking up after a grown man. No ones nagging. Sorry James, Ill be just fine. Actually, Ill finally get a rest.”
“You,” he lunges at her, but Chester, suddenly fierce, arches his back and lets out a deep, guttural growl. His fur bristles, startling James, who recoils.
“Fine! Enjoy your lonely life with your pests. Ill find a woman who appreciates me! Youll rot here alone!”
He storms into the hall. Sophie hears him swearing as he struggles with his cases.
“Wheres my laptop?” he hollers.
“In the side pocket of your bag,” she replies.
“And my documents?”
“In the file at the top of your case. Ive packed everything, even your favourite mug.”
Her tranquillity infuriates him more than any screaming match ever could. If shed sobbed, thrown plates, hed feel in control. Her icy courtesy makes him powerless.
He mutters a few more curses, perhaps hoping shell come running, apologies pouring from her lips. She doesnt move.
The front door slams. Its final. The sound rolls down the stairwell and fades, replaced only by the wheels of his suitcase on the tiled hall below.
Sophie sits in the quiet, waiting for pain, or fear, or regret. Instead, a warm, rich relief flows through her like shes dropped a loaded rucksack at last.
Chester nuzzles her hand; she rubs his ear.
“Thats my lad,” she says softly. “Chased away the big baddie, did we?”
Pippa, emboldened, jumps down from the arm and curls up in Sophies lap.
An hour later, Sophies mobile rings. Its still saved as “Darling.” She grimaces, presses block, then updates the contact to James Ex. After a seconds consideration, she deletes his number altogether.
She goes to the kitchen, pours herself a glass of winethe one left over from Christmasand makes a cheese sandwich. She feels at ease. Tomorrow will be difficultJames will likely call, demand a confrontation, try to manipulate or argue about whats histhough the car was on his credit and the appliances were all Sophies from before the marriage. Thats for another day.
Tonight, shes home. Her home. She can hang her jacket wherever she likes, drop crumbs on the floor, and not worry anyone will kick her cats for wanting affection.
The doorbell rings again. Sophie stiffens, but the ring is gentle, polite. Not James.
At the door stands Mrs Green, a plate covered by a tea towel.
“Sophie, love, brought over a hot cabbage pie. Heard your chap trundling suitcases just now. Off on a business trip?”
Sophie glimpses the kind face, the fragrant pie, glances back at her curious cats peeking from the hall.
“No, Mrs Green,” she smiles, taking the plate. “Not a business trip. Hes moved out. For good. Please, come in for tea. Ive plenty of time nowand its beautifully quiet.”
The evening is wonderful. They share tea and pie, the cats purr, and for the first time in five years, Sophie feels deeply, truly happy. She realises this: loneliness isnt being at home alone with your cats. Loneliness is living with someone who couldnt care for you, having to betray yourself for their approval.
And, by the way, Sophie books the cats appointment at the groomers the next day. Let them look their best. Theyve earned itafter all, theyre the ones whove helped her clear out the real rubbish from her life.
