Christina sat before her mirror, carefully applying the lipstickCherry Bliss. She remembered how Oliver once mentioned how well it suited her.
Miracles rarely occur at her age. Yet, by chance, shed found one. At a bus stop of all places! Hed offered his seat, shed thanked him, and somehow, conversation sparked.
That was three months ago. It felt like a lifetime.
“Monty, what do you think?” she turned to her cat, stretched out on the windowsill and watching the sparrows dart about the back garden. “Do I look pretty?”
Monty meoweda wise, approving sound only he could make.
Hed been with her for five years, ever since her husbands funeral. She brought the kitten back that lonely day and declared, “Well grieve together.” Instead, theyd learned to live together.
A clever cat. Sensitive. When she was upset, hed come purring. When she was happy, hed chase about the lounge. Every morning hed rouse her with a gentle paw to her cheek.
The phone rang.
“Christina, love, Im on my way!” Olivers voice was brimming with cheer. “Todays the day, darling. Well settle everything.”
“All right.” She laughed, the anticipation bright in her voice. “Im waiting.”
Today, he would bring her the keys to his flat. Theyd decided to move in togetherhis two-bedroom near the seaside. Bigger, brighter, and the sea air was better, he said.
Christina pictured it alreadybreakfast on the balcony, a view of the bay, Oliver reading the morning Times.
“Monty,” she cooed to the cat, “were moving! Youll like it. Huge windows, youll watch twice as many birds.”
Monty stretched, leapt from the sill and brushed against her legs.
“Yes, youre coming, too. How could I not bring you?”
The doorbell rang.
Standing there, with a bouquet and a broad grin, Oliver looked every bit the successful English gentlemansharp suit, polished shoes, a glint of confidence only a man with his own company could carry.
“My lovely Christina!” He kissed her cheek. “Ready for a new adventure?”
“Absolutely!” Her eyes sparkled. “Come in, Ill put the kettle on.”
In the kitchen, Oliver ceremoniously placed a jangling set of keys on the table.
“Here they are. Keys to our new nest.”
Monty slid into the kitchen doorway. Spotting the guest, he edged forward, sniffing inquisitively.
“That creature again?” Oliver wrinkled his nose. “Christina, I need to talk to you.”
Her smile faded, her limbs tensed at the steel in his tone.
“About what?”
“You see,” he sighed, “the flats just been redone. Completely new. Catsthey shed everywhere, and the smell lingers. To be honest, Ive got a mild allergy.”
Christina froze, mug poised halfway to her lips.
“So?”
“I wont live with that cat,” he said, as calmly as if he were discussing old furniture. “Its up to you what you do with him.”
His words stung like a bucket of icy water.
Monty huddled by her feet, staring with those soulful amber eyes. At her. Then at Oliver.
He understood.
After a while, Oliver left, keys abandoned on the kitchen table. Christina sat on, tea cold. Her eyes fixed on those damned keys.
Monty scrambled onto her lap, purring low and steady, a balm for raw nerves.
“What am I to do, Monty?” she whispered, stroking his soft fur. “What ever am I to do?”
Olivers words echoed: “Its your decision.”
But how? For five years, Monty had been family, comfort, purpose. After Victor died, that kitten rescued her from madness.
She remembered cradling him, so tiny, feeding him milk from a dropper, sitting up all night through fever and fright until his nose twitched and he purred in her palm.
All those mornings together, breakfast for two, tv-quiet evenings. When she was ill, he never left her bed. When she felt low, hed bring his favourite felt mouse and drop it near, as if to say: Here, play, cheer up.
Monty gazed at her with unexpected humanity in his golden stare.
Christina paced the kitchen, phone in handconsidered calling her friend Nina, then thought better of it. What would Nina say? Something like, “Chris, you can always find a new home for the cat for the sake of a man…”
But could she?
She stood at the window, watching Decembers first snow hush the garden. Christmas was near. Shed longed not to spend it alone.
“Well,” she said at last. “Ill visit the vet. Maybe someones seeking a good cat. Well find you a caring home.”
Yet even uttering this, every part of her revolted.
Next morning, she popped by her neighbour Mrs Gales. The old lady had always fed the strays.
“Mrs Gale, do you know anyone whod take on a lovely, clever cat?”
“Monty? Whatevers the matter?”
“Im moving. Pets arent allowed.”
Mrs Gale peered at her closely.
“Christina, surely not! That cats your own blood. I remember you nursing him as a baby.”
“Its circumstances,” Christina breathed.
“What circumstances worth more than a loyal friend?” the old lady clucked. “No. I know no one. Wouldnt want to, either. Itd be a betrayal, Christina.”
That word pierced. She left quickly.
Home again, Monty met her at the door, rubbing against her legs, rumbling with that low purr. Animals sense when somethings off, she realised.
“Im sorry,” she whispered, lifting him. “Forgive me.”
That evening, Oliver rang.
“So, have you sorted the cat?”
“Not yet. Im looking for someone to take him in.”
“Christina,” his tone sharpened, “lets not be sentimental. Do you want a future with me or not? Im a serious man; I need a serious partner. Not someone whod throw away happiness over a cat.”
“Give me more time.”
“Weve not much time. I expect you to move by Christmas.”
After the call, Christina sat in silence. Monty curled beside her.
“Hes right,” she said to the cat. “Youre only an animal. Olivers a mana good man. Where will I find another chance?”
But those words sounded empty, even to her.
On the third day, Nina called.
“Chris, you sound flat. Whats up?”
Christina told her everythingultimatum, search for new owners, her doubts.
“Waita man who says me or the cat right at the start?” Nina cut in.
“Well, yes.”
“You know what comes next? Im not keen on those trousers. Or I dont like your friend. Stop seeing her. If a bloke starts dictating before you even move in…”
“But I might end up all alone!” Christinas voice broke. “All on my own!”
“Are you alone now? Doesnt Monty count?”
Christina fell silent.
She sat on her sofa afterwards, Monty instantly nestling close.
“Tell me truthfully,” she said, “if I gave you away, would you miss me?”
Monty purred in answer.
“And me?” She stroked his head. “Would I be happy, knowing I betrayed you?”
He lifted his head, peering up with a gaze full of trust and warmth.
“My God,” she whispered, “what am I doing?”
Just then, the phone rang. Oliver.
“Christina, Ill be round for you tomorrow, all right? Hope youve sorted the animal?”
She glanced at Monty, curled up and gently purring. So trusting.
“Oliver. I need more time to decide.”
“To decide what?” he snapped. “Youll ruin everything over a blasted cat? Seriously?”
“Maybe you could try to get used to him? Montys impeccable.”
“Ive said alreadyIm allergic! And frankly, I dont think youre ready for a serious relationship. Think over it. This is your last chance.”
The phone went dead.
Only Montys purring filled the flat.
“So thats it,” she murmured. “‘Last chance.'” It sounded almost elegant.
Suddenly, the realisation chilled her. She wasnt scared of loneliness, but of the urge to betray her most loyal friend for a man laying down conditions.
Saturday dawned grey and damp. Shed slept fitfully, dreams of wandering a long corridor where, at the end, stood Oliver and Monty. She had to choose who to walk towards. The choice left her heavy when she woke.
Monty lay at her feet as ever. When she stirred, he stretched and climbed onto her pillow.
“Morning, love,” she breathed, pressing her face into his fur.
She set about breakfast, feeding Monty, changing his water, hands trembling.
“What am I to do?” she asked Monty as he ate. “What indeed?”
Monty looked at her, wise yellow eyes brimming with understanding.
“Perhaps hes right,” she continued. “Perhaps Im not ready. Perhaps I cling to the past?”
But even as she said the words, she knew they werent hers. Theyd been planted by others.
At eleven, Nina rang again.
“Chris, any news? Is your mind made up?”
“Im torn, Nina. My heart says one thing, my head another.”
“And whats your heart say?”
She watched Monty, licking his paw in the winter sun.
“My heart says I cant let him go.”
“Well, there you are!” cried Nina. “Come on, Chris. If a man wants you to choose between him and a true companion, is he really the man for you?”
After, Christina curled in her armchair with Monty in her lap.
“You know,” she said, “Ninas right. Im not alone, am I? Ive got you. And Im content, honestly.”
Monty purred, resettling himself.
“What if,” she whispered, “the right man would love us both, you and me?”
At two, the bell rang. Her heart thudded.
Oliver stood at the door, overnight case in hand, face tight with irritation.
“So, you ready?” he barked without so much as a greeting. “Packed?”
“Come in, Oliver. We need to talk.”
“About what?” He strode into the hall, eyes sweeping the flat. “Wheres the cat? Hope youve sorted it.”
Monty sauntered from the kitchen, paused, sat, and studied the scene.
“There he is,” Oliver grimaced. “Christina, how many times must I say this?”
“Ive decided,” she said quietly.
“And?”
“I cant leave him behind.”
Oliver stood, then pivoted slowly.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I cant. Hes been my friend for five years.”
“And I?” Olivers voice iced over. “Am I nothing?”
She looked at himand suddenly, she saw not the charmer shed admired, but a man who expected everything his way. A man to whom her attachments were inconvenient.
“You matter to me,” she said gently. “But Monty never gave me an ultimatum.”
“What? Youre comparing me to a cat?”
“Im not. Im simply sayinghe loves me, no strings attached.”
“Christina” Oliver stepped forward, “do you know what youre doing? Youre throwing away our life for an animal!”
“Im not. Im choosing what really matters.”
Monty brushed against her. She scooped him up.
“Let me tell you,” snapped Oliver, voice metallic, “Im an established man, respected. I could give you a fine life, and you choose a cat instead?”
“Hes not just any cat,” Christina interrupted, “hes Monty. My Monty.”
“Whats so special about him, then?” shouted Oliver. “Hes just an animal!”
And at last, Christina understood. Irrevocably.
“You know what, Oliver?” she said, her voice calm and clear, “youre right. He isnt specialexcept he never once asked me to choose between him and anyone else.”
Oliver gaped, astonished and furious.
“So thats it?” he said at last. “The cat wins?”
He stood a moment, then whirled and slammed out.
“Youre a fool, Christina. Youll regret this. Youll never find another man like me.”
“Perhaps not,” she agreed softly. “But Ill never find another Monty either.”
The door banged shut.
Quiet enfolded the flat.
Christina moved to the kitchen, slid into a chair. Monty curled up in her lap.
“Here we are,” she mused. “Just us again.”
Monty looked up, nuzzled her hand. And all at once, a wave of relief washed through heras if a boulder had rolled off her chest.
“Do you know, Monty?” she whispered, smiling genuinely at last, “I think we did the right thing.”
Lightness. For the first time in days, true lightness.
March. Outside, the snow had melted, tentative blooms peeped from flowerbeds, and sparrows filled the mornings with raucous chatter. Christina tended her violetsby now, shed grown a veritable hothouse on the windowsill.
“Look here, Monty,” she said, holding up a freshly opened petal. “Isnt it beautiful?”
Monty took a dignified sniff, approved with a delicate mew.
Three months had passed. The first weeks were hardnot from loneliness, but from those dark questions. “What if I was wrong? What if he was my last chance?”
But soon, the flat felt more alive. Christina took on students againyoung Maisie and the teenage Arthur. Piano notes trickled back, as did laughter, conversation, life.
“Miss Palmer, whats your cats name?” Maisie asked on her first visit.
“This is Monty. My friend.”
“Can I stroke him?”
“Of course.”
Monty, always the gentleman, allowed it, purring contentedly and eyeing Maisie with approval.
And then, something unexpecteda new acquaintance. In the courtyard, she bumped into Mr Michael Green from the fifth floora retired teacher, widower. They started to chat.
“Youve a beautiful cat,” he remarked, waving to Monty in the window.
“Thank you. Are you a pet lover yourself?”
“Always. Used to have a shepherd, Daisy. Lost her two years ago. Still find the flat too quiet”
They talked for an hour, then again another day. Michael turned out to be kind, thoughtful, interesting. Not just bright, but warm.
“Will your cat mind visitors?” he asked once.
“Monty? Hes an excellent judge of character. Doesnt care for the wrong sort.”
Michael laughed. “Lets hope I pass muster then!”
He didfrom the very first try.
Now, Christina watched Monty sunbathing and smiled. Life was settling itself, not as shed planned, but in its own gentle way.
She brewed a cup of tea, sank into her armchair. Monty curled up immediately.
“Thank you,” she whispered, stroking his silken fur, “for showing me real love never asks for betrayal.”
Monty purred, a melody of solace and home.
And Christina realised, finallyshe neednt fear solitude. Because when youre cherished without conditions, you are never truly alone.
