When I recall how my husband came home that week, I cant help but laugh even now. I remember I laughed so much that our three kittens dashed over and hid behind my legs, startled by the racket. As soon as the mother cat saw her little ones, she wriggled free from my husbands arms and began fussing over them, licking each one as though she was making up for lost time.
Back then, my husband was a delivery driver, working a battered old van that rattled and coughed its way around town. Hed get his list of addresses every morning at the depot on the outskirts of Birminghama modest place with a dozen similar vans, a car park, a break room, and a little device at the door for clocking in and out.
Hed sink into the drivers seat and coax the engine to life, each day starting with that familiar groan. One lunch break, as he switched off the ignition and prepared to join the lads for a plate of sandwiches, he heard an odd noise under the bonnet. It sounded a bit like a slipping belt or perhaps the fan clipping somethingthough the van was meant to be off. With a sigh and a quick glance at the others tucking into their food, he resolved to check. He lifted the bonnet and nearly had a heart attack. Perched atop the fan, covered head-to-tail in oil, was a tiny black kitten, mewling forlornly.
His legs felt as if theyd given way, and he steadied himself on the wing. In that moment, he pictured the horror if the little thing had got caught up in the engine while it was running. Gathering himself, he gently scooped the kitten up, closed the bonnet, and slid back into the cab.
When he got home, I gave him a right talking-to:
You careless fool! Didnt you even bother to check the van before setting off? Imagine if youd run over it! Next time, dont bother coming home, do you hear me?
He flapped his arms, mumbling some excuse, while I cradled the kitten, who purred in delight. Off to the bathroom he went, and soon there were gentle cooings and the sound of kisses wafting out.
My husband let out a heavy sigh. He tried, in vain, to remember the last time such tenderness had been directed at him. Finding no answer, he retreated and headed back to work.
The following day, still haunted by the previous encounter, he checked beneath the van with added care. Underneath, nestled near the axle, sat another kittenginger and white this time. As soon as he bent down, the kitten chirped and scampered into his arms. Baffled by this new arrival, and mindful of my stern words, he turned the van toward home once more.
That time, there was no rebuke. In fact, I eyed him with newfound respect, remarking that in twenty years it might well be his first properly sensible act.
Good job! I said, whisking the second kitten off to the bathroom, trailed by yesterdays visitor.
The day could hardly have gone better for him. He felt uncommonly satisfied and confident. By evening, we sat to supper as a foursometwo kittens, both glued to my side, climbing up my lap, clawing and wriggling, while I laughed harder and brighter than I had in years. It was for that laughter, he often said, that he once fell in love with me.
At dawn, almost with dread now, he crouched to peer beneath the van.
Oh, Lord! he breathed.
There sat a third kittengrey with white markings. He picked this little one up, too.
That evening, I led him to the old local fortune tellera woman known for her wisdom and odd remedies. After inspecting my husband, she pronounced him the victim of two love spells, three hexes and an evil eye. The cure? A month of rituals and five hundred pounds.
The next morning, he was even more hesitant to approach the van. He smoked for ages before finally taking a look. This time, a mature grey cat sat there, her sides sagging, clearly the mother of the trio.
What now? he asked, resigned.
He opened the cabs door. The cat meowed and slipped inside, deft as you like.
When he brought the full-grown mother cat home, I laughed and laughed. My laughter was so infectious the kittens, startled, huddled behind my legs. The mother cat spotted her brood, wriggled free, and immediately set about grooming them.
He watched the scene unfold, astonished, as if seeing such a thing for the first time.
Whats she up to? he asked, baffled.
Oh, you silly thing, I said with a chuckle. Havent you twigged yet? She sorted out her little ones and found herself a home too.
I bent down, stroked the mother cat affectionately, and shook my head.
In all my years, Ive never seen anything quite like this. Youd need a clever cats mind to pull it off.
By weeks end, I told my husband he was off fishing. His jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide as saucers.
Off you go, I said confidently. Im gathering the girls. Dont get under our feet, alright?
Right he replied, unsure if he ought to be pleased or disappointed. Not that it mattered; his opinion in the matter was entirely irrelevant.
Before he left, I gave him a kiss.
Ive always known you were wonderful, I told him. Dont forget that.
He stepped out onto the porch and took in the view.
Good Lord, how lovely it is here! he whispered. Why hadnt I noticed before?
Birds sang in the treesand it seemed, somewhere inside him, they sang too.
Meanwhile, my friends were arriving, each with their own bottle and nibbles. Once settled round the table, the grey mother cat took up her place proudly at the centre. We poured champagne and raised our glasses:
To the wise mistress who managed to sort out both her children and her life!
Afterwards, no one could quite remember the next toast, but the cat stretched out on the tablecloth, eyes narrowed with contentment. She knew, without question, she was lovedshe was home.
On the sofa, her three kittens slept, huddled together in peaceful slumber.
And so, that brings me round to my final toasta simple one:
May health bless clever women and their husbands, lucky enough to live alongside them.
And may the same be wished for all of you.
