**Fur on the Plate: How a Cat Destroyed Love**
“Oliver, I’m begging you—drop it! You promised you wouldn’t slag off my son again!” Lucy tried to keep her cool, but her voice shook with frustration.
“I’m not slagging him off, I’m just being honest!” Oliver shot back. “He’s taking the mickey, living off you while you fuss over him like he’s still in nappies. Can’t you see he’s turning into a layabout?”
“One more word and I’m done!” Lucy nearly shouted. “My son is at uni. While he’s studying, I’ll support him. I don’t need your permission!”
“So my opinion means nothing?” Oliver huffed. “You only want to hear sweet nothings? Sorry, love, but I’ve got a say too!”
“No, you don’t!” Lucy snapped. “If you don’t shut it, I’m walking out right now. Again! Two weeks ago, you swore we wouldn’t have this row. Forgotten already?”
“Course I remember!” Oliver barked. “But how am I supposed to stay quiet when he acts like that? You’d give him the shirt off your back, and he doesn’t even appreciate it!”
“Who says he doesn’t?!” Lucy trembled with rage. “James loves me and thanks me for everything. End of discussion!”
She stormed off to the kitchen to cool down, but Oliver, righteous fury blazing, followed.
“Lucy, won’t you just hear me out?” His voice took on a pleading edge. “Don’t I deserve that much?”
“Have a kid, raise one, then you can lecture me!” She cut him off. “Until then, you’re just green with envy!”
Oliver had a daughter from his first marriage, but he hadn’t seen her in nearly a decade—her mum had moved to another town when the girl was barely two.
“Envy?!” He scoffed. “You think I’m jealous of your freeloader? That’s rubbish!”
“Oh, you’re jealous alright!” Lucy shot back. “He’s only twenty, and he’s got everything you never had!”
“What, a mum who pays his rent and tops up his account like he’s a schoolkid? That’s what I’m supposed to envy?” Oliver sneered.
“Clearly, yes!” Lucy fired back. “Or else why are you so bothered?”
“I’m just saying you’ve spoiled him rotten!”
“And I’ll keep doing it! He’s my only son, and I can afford to!”
“Yeah, must be nice having that private-island money!” Oliver rolled his eyes.
The fight hadn’t even started about James. Lucy wasn’t sure how they’d wound up here again. It had all been so peaceful—curled up on the sofa, watching telly, when an ad for a massage chair came on. Oliver got all excited, found a good deal online, and immediately wanted one.
Lucy didn’t object but reminded him, “Let’s hold off, yeah? I asked to avoid big spends till my pay comes through. Might have to borrow from you, actually.”
She never asked Oliver for money. Her salary was rarely late, but this month was an exception. She worked remotely, barely left the house except for groceries. All day, she typed away at her laptop, checking things, editing—but it paid well, one-and-a-half times Oliver’s wage. Not millions, but enough for rent, food, and helping James out.
“Lucy, ever think if money’s tight, someone could get a part-time job?” Oliver hinted.
“You mean James?” Her frown deepened. “I already said no. I sent him to uni, not to shout ‘till open’ at Tesco!”
“He’s a grown bloke! Should know money doesn’t grow on trees!”
“He knows that fine without you!”
“Knows? You hand it to him on a plate!”
“None of your business! Drop it, Oliver, you’re doing my head in!”
The row dragged on another half-hour before fizzling out. Trying to smooth things over, Lucy made tea and sandwiches.
“Here,” she said, sliding a plate toward him.
Oliver grimaced and pushed it away. “Not hungry—” Then he stiffened. “Look! Cat hair on the plate! That bloody furball drives me mad! Why’s there so much? Do you even clean?”
“I hoover twice a week! Any more, and I’d need a clone!”
“You’re at home all day! How hard is it to grab a mop?”
“I don’t just sit around! I work—and earn more than you!”
Oliver went pale. The fact Lucy outearned him already rankled, and her tone poured petrol on that fire.
“So now I’m not man enough?” he hissed.
“I never said that! You’re twisting my words! I’d love a spotless flat too if someone else did the scrubbing! Cleaning isn’t just women’s work!”
“Did I say it was?”
“No, but how many times have you lifted a finger since we moved in? Six months, and not once!”
Oliver floundered, trying to recall a single instance. She was right—he’d left it all to her—but pride wouldn’t let him admit it.
“Ooh, poor you! Sweeping up’s such a chore!” He smirked. “And for the record, I don’t make the mess!”
“Neither do I! But you expect me to dust, mop, and wash windows like some live-in maid! I told you from the start—twice a week, no more!”
When Oliver suggested moving in together, Lucy had been clear: cleaning happened on schedule, no exceptions.
“I didn’t bargain for a bloody fur storm!” Oliver jabbed.
“It’s not a storm! You’re hunting for it with a magnifier!” Lucy snapped. “And stop shouting—you’re scaring Whiskers! Look, he’s under the sofa!”
The ginger tabby peered out, wide-eyed, refusing to budge.
“Oh, precious little angel!” Oliver mocked. “Can’t train a cat, can’t raise a son—one yowls all night, the other bleeds you dry!”
“Back to James, are we? Maybe take a walk? Cool off!”
“I’m not going anywhere! This is my flat!”
“Funny, since we split the rent!”
“I lived here first, so it’s mine!”
“Fine! I’ll pack up and move back with James tomorrow!” Lucy yelled, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
“Go on then! Who’d want you at forty-three anyway!” Oliver shouted after her.
Lucy couldn’t take another second. And to think it had all started so sweetly…
Born in a tiny Devon village, Lucy fell in love, married, had James, and divorced six years later. Her ex paid child support till James turned eighteen, but she raised him alone—no degree, but determined he’d have better. When he got into uni, she covered everything.
That summer, they visited Bristol, where James would study. No entrance exams—his grades were solid. Lucy helped him settle in, knowing how daunting the city was after their quiet village.
James refused halls and talked her into renting a flat. At first, he planned to share with mates, then said, “Mum, just stay with me! Bristol’s brilliant—loads to do! Why mope in Devon? You work remote anyway, and we’ll have fun!”
She agreed. Her son nearby, her village safe—weekends became café trips, cinema dates, even their first theatre visit. And there, they met Oliver.
He’d sat beside them, chuckling at the play. Afterward, over coffee, they exchanged numbers. Months of dates led to Oliver asking her to move in.
Lucy hesitated—leaving James felt wrong. But he insisted, “I’ll manage! We’ll meet loads!”
So she went, but visited weekly, stocking his fridge. Sometimes he seemed lonely, but he’d brush it off: “I’m fine! Lectures, mates, nights out—all good!”
First year flew by. Summer, James stacked shelves for pocket money. But term started, coursework piled up, and Lucy made him quit—studies came first.
All was fine till Oliver started nitpicking. When James worked, he rarely asked for cash, so Lucy splurged on gadgets. But with studies, expenses rose, and Oliver lost it.
After that first blow-up, she nearly left, but Oliver begged forgiveness, swore it wouldn’t happen. She believed him—he seemed sincere. But tonight proved otherwise.
She spent the night on a towel in the bath, woken by Whiskers scratching at the door—his litter tray was inside. She let him in, locked herself away again. By morning, Oliver had left for work, unshowered, slamming the door.
Without hesitation, Lucy packed, texting James she was coming back.
“That bad?” he asked.
“Worse.”
“Right, I’ve got lectures, but I’ll help after?”
“Don’t worry, I’As she sipped her tea in James’ cozy flat, watching Whiskers curl up on the sofa without a care in the world, Lucy realized she’d traded a man who belittled her love for a home where she was truly valued.
