A Midnight Tale: A Woman, a Cat, and the Fridge

Night, Woman, Cat and Fridge

– Dont you look at me like that!

I shot a stern glance at the cat, my brow arched as menacingly as I could manage. My mother always warned me against raising my brows like thatsaid it was far too intimidating, especially when I was a child with thick eyebrows that almost met on the bridge of my nose. My brows were my fathers gift, though I had always wished for my mothers delicate, tidy arches.

Id long since tamed my brows to a more presentable state. After all, I wasnt a young girl anymore, and the cat knew all of this. He certainly wasnt bothered by my sharp look, refusing to take me seriously as he sat on the windowsill, regarding me with mystery and an occasional flick of eerie green from his eyes when the hall lamps glow reached the kitchen. The kitchen door, the one Id left slightly ajar in case I wanted to retreat, periodically tapped in the breeze but never quite shutrefusing to close the passage back to reality. That infuriated me; I wanted the door to slam shut, to allow myself full permission to open anotherthe fridge door.

Shuffling against the wall where Id sat for over an hour, I glared at the refrigerator, willing it to cooperate.

Of course, I knew every last sausage and cheese in there; Id done the shopping myself, and that was often a source of family jokes.

Catherine, why on earth do we have capers? Who eats them? my husband would tease while fingering a tiny jar. What possessed you to buy these?

Theyre tasty, Id reply.

Fine, then, come up with a way to get through them, and dont collapse under the effort.

So Id create some bizarre new dish since I could never cook by the book. My odd concoctions were met first with suspicion, then devoured, with everyone, even the boys, clamouring for seconds.

Everyone except me.

I simply couldnt eat what I had cooked myself. Not at all.

Preparing food was thrillingso much so, I felt lighter, inspired, nearly happy while chopping and stirring and tasting. But the moment my culinary masterpiece was complete, something wicked happened! Some invisible, ancient grandmotherwhom I didnt know and who probably wasnt even relatedwould whisper in my ear, tut-tutting, grumbling and smirking, and suddenly, I couldnt so much as look at my creations, let alone eat them.

To cope, Id grab whatever didnt need cooking. A slice of sausage here, some cheese there, buns, sweets, biscuitseven the digestive biscuits I sometimes pinched from my sons snack stash. I figured the kids biscuits were healthier, and that made me feel a little less guilty. I reasoned I was preserving my own health somehow.

Though, I must admit, I was far from the picture of perfect health.

No, I wasnt overweight. All my snacking fuelled a life that revolved around three children, a husband, a cat and a homeeach demanding my constant, undivided attention. Plus, there was work, which I respected, sometimes loved, provided it gave me the chance to focus on caring for those I loved.

But Id never learned to complain about my health. My mother had hammered one simple phrase into me as a child:

It will pass on its own!

Whenever I moaned of a sniffle or ache, shed retort:

Come now, Catherine, youre perfectly fine! No feverwait, have you checked? Good girl! Have a cup of tea with raspberry, off to bed with you! Itll pass on its own.

That magical line followed me right through my childhood, and I truly believed that things just went away if left alone. Putting effort into my well-being seemed unnecessary.

Perhaps thats why, when my body struggled after our first child, I didnt think twice. Whats the point? I thought. No time for that! Itll pass!

The second son was far harder. Some mornings I could barely force myself awake to his demanding wails, but I never complainednot to my husband. What kind of mother needs help to care for her own baby?

David, my husband, understood without a word.

Cathy, let me handle him! Hed gently take the baby and shoo me out of the room. Well be finejust sleep, darling. You need proper rest.

Id drift into darkness and sleep for hours, yet wake up exhausted and aching with guilt at having let them down.

What kind of woman was I if I couldnt even look after my own family?

If Id ever stopped to think about the root of my self-doubt, perhaps Id have realised that no woman can be truly content if she grows up under the shadow of Youre just a little bit wrong somehow

Sadly, my mother and grandmother bestowed that mantra upon me.

Sit up straight, Cathy! Dont hunch like a treble clef! Straighten your back, pet! My grandmother, Lily Bennett, would flap her dainty, manicured hands.

Mum, do you think I dont know that already? Its hopeless to tell her! She never listens! Other children are normal, and Cathys just in her own world! And she eats constantly! No persuasion helps, punishment hasnt worked either! Imagine that?!

Tiny five-year-old me, lighter than our cat, would sit bolt upright, tears splashing silently into my soup, too frightened to do more than stare at my plate.

No doubt, in their minds, they were rightI was different

Only later, as an awkward, spotty teen, did I find old albums. There, my mother was chubby-faced, bright-eyed and not so dissimilar to meacne scars and all. My waist was slimmer than hers had ever been.

So why the endless admonishments? Why the constant food policing?

When I finally dared to ask, Mum only said:

Take a look in the mirrorwholl marry you, for heavens sake? I never hoped for a husband until I sorted myself out! Thanks to your grandmothers strictness, I managed it. We were all on a diet then.

What about Granddad? When did he leave Granny? Id risk.

What a question! Of course it had nothing to do with that. There were irreconcilable differences, as there sometimes are.

How can you not understand a man youve shared years with?

Oh Catherine! Enough foolishness! Go and keep yourself busy.

I knew very well what busy meant. Trainers on; off to the school athletics field. I didnt run, at least not in daylight when the boys played football. I would sit quietly on the bench under the big lime tree, brooding, until sunset, then jog a few laps half-heartedly, scolding myself for laziness.

All that thinking led me somewhere. I reasonedwell then, if Im not beautiful and no one will ever want to marry me, I must do something useful so people look past my appearance. Id noticed early that being competent mattered more than looks. If people need something only you can give, youre safe.

I want to become a doctor, Mum.

What? You, with your grades…?

What about my grades? Its not about looks. I do well enough.

Well suit yourself. Its a respectable profession.

I know. I tried to contain my excitement just in case Mum changed her mind.

So, I became a doctor. A very good one. With so little of a personal life, I buried myself in study, which paid off. Mother gave me pained sighs but little interference; she was busy with Granny, who needed full-time care.

But not for long.

Shell never find a husband on her own! All she thinks about is work. Granny, frail as she was, took things into her own hands again.

Thanks to her, a matchmaker appeared. How she was found remains a mystery, but this tiny, bustling woman soon announced:

Your Catherine is a peach! Clever and lovelya real catch!

I nearly laughed out loud. Me, lovely? Id lost some weight and my skin had cleared up, but I still wasnt anything special. Id learnt to use makeup and blend into the crowd. Beautiful, though not quite.

Yet, a suitor appeared swiftly enough.

I could barely hold my tongue. He was short, gangly, uncomfortablefiddling with his hands and unsteady under the gaze of my mother and the matchmaker.

But Id been raised to be kind, so swallowed my pride and played along, aware family had gone to some trouble for my sake.

The tea my mother arranged for introductions passed calmly. A date was set for the following week. I was latework kept me. By the time I rushed to the café, breathless, he was nowhere to be seen. I was about to leave when the waiter stopped me.

Excuse me, are you Catherine? He grinned, and I couldnt help smiling back.

Thats me.

Theres a noteyour young man was quite nervous, broke a glass and left. Here you are.

The note said, Dont look for me.

I actually snorted:

Well, I wasnt going to!

A weight lifted from my chest. Now I had ammunition against my mothers orchestrating. Id been dumped! On the first date, no less. Yes, Id been late, but isnt that allowed for girls? Who needed a man so bothered by nerves and glassware? I certainly didnt.

The waiter, sensing my relief, asked:

Well, what are you doing tonight?

I dont know what came over me, but I crumpled the note, looked at him carefully and asked:

Whats your name?

David.

Are you just feeling sorry for me?

No. Why would I? The jokey smile vanished and he grew serious.

Well, I probed, if youre not, Ill meet you by the park, the one near the medical school.

I know it! Thank you! His smile was genuine, and for some reason I believed himhe wasnt pitying me.

I remember our first date as though it happened yesterday. Every word, every moment. Id never felt so at ease with someoneas if wed known each other for years. Turned out we both adored jazz, detested cottage cheese, wanted a cat but never a dog (not enough time to raise one), both dreamed of a house and careers that benefitted others above all else. It was as though fate finally united two lost halves.

We dated for over a year.

Mum, of course, was beside herself.

Hes not right for you!

Why ever not, Mum?

Heswell

Hes a waiter?

Yes!

But you know hes a student and works at the café part-time. Whats so bad about waiting tables?

He cares for an ailing mother and a five-year-old sister. Why burden yourself with that?

Mum, isnt that a sign hes a good man? That he looks after his family? Hell look after me, too, if the time comes.

Catherine! Have some self-respect!

Mum, thats exactly what Im learning.

In the end, the wedding had to be delayed.

Cathy, if Mum goes, I dont know what Ill do

What do you mean? Youll raise Isla!

Will I manage?

Is there another choice?

I helped David care for his mum, but all our efforts were in vain. When it was clear she didnt have long, we quietly registered to marry. Our only witness was Isla.

So, were a family now? Isla asked, wide-eyed.

Yes, we nodded.

And me?

Youre our family, too.

Good!

She said it so gravely I realised this child understood more than we guessed.

Davids mother appreciated what Id done.

Thank you, dear. For Isla, and for David. Sorry you have this burden. I wish I could spare you for a while longer

Thats not what you should focus on, I soothed, smoothing her frail hands. Are we recovering, or wallowing?

Thank you, Cathy, she smiled. You know everything, but you cheer me. Well recover then! We will

She passed away a month after our wedding. I arranged the funeral, comforted Isla as best I could.

Mummy doesnt hurt anymore? Isla asked, seeking comfort.

No, darling. No more tears no more injections.

I was shatteredshe was warm, bright, and in so little time shed won my heart. I wished wed had longer.

Mum, learning Id married in secret, was livid.

What about a wedding? I raised you just for you to do this to me? No celebration? No word?

You know there was no time for a party, Mum!

I dont care! My only daughter, married, and nothing! Thats all I know, and I want nothing more!

I tried to reason with her, but it was useless. So, I left her to cool off.

But the cool-off lasted years

I still visited Mum, helped around the house, sorted her health matters. Our conversations were stiff, officiallike two strangers. However hard I tried, the warmth wouldnt return.

Eventually, I snapped.

Have you any other children, Mum?

What silly questions! Of course not.

Then why push me away, too? I put down the blood pressure monitor I always brought. Ive never asked you this, but do you even love me?

Her reaction stunned me. Always so composed and firm, Mum burst into tears.

Darling, of course I love you. Its just I was never taught how to show it. My mother always said not to spoil your children, that you must speak to them squarely, as adults. Otherwise, you grow up unprepared for lifes harshness. She warned me not to be a clucking hen, forever fussing over her chick. And so I tried hard, but it seems I lost more than I gained. You grew up on your own, really, without my involvement. I saw you ignore what I said. Sometimes, though, Im glad it was that way. But Im afraidyou seem so far away now, that if I call, you wont hear me

I consoled her as best I could, but her words haunted me. My greatest fear was to repeat her mistakes with my own children. Although Isla and the boys always came to me with their worries, I constantly worried that I wasnt doing enough, that they lacked something. Yet, I dealt with it privatelyDavid offered to help, but I thought it was my own battle to fight.

So there I was, sitting by the fridge most nights, the cat my only companion. Somehow, the kitchen brought me clarity. Id reflect on my life, on my mother and grandmother, and reach uncomfortable conclusions.

If only Id spoken my feelings sooner, perhaps life would’ve been different. A less good girl would have been a little more confident

In some ways, the realisation comforted mein others, it shook me. How long it had taken to realise such an obvious truth.

The kitchen door creaked. In walked David, not looking at me or the cat, opening the fridge to fetch cheese, tomatoes and herbs. He sat down beside me, wrapped his arm round me, and handed me a makeshift sandwich.

Eat!

David, if I keep eating at night, not a skirt will fit me.

Eat, I said! He winked at the cat. You want some?

The cat made no protest. He jumped down to accept a piece of cheese and settled on my lap.

I love you anyway, David smiled as I munched. Even if you weighed a tonne, I wouldnt care. You know that. Cathy, can I askwhats wrong?

I chewed, pressed my nose to his neck, stroked the cat.

Alls alright, I finally breathed and, for the first time, believed it myself. But no tonne, David. Im perfectly happy in a size sixteen.

Ive never seen a prettier woman

Tell me that more often, will you?

Will you stop your night trips to the fridge?

Oh, David!

What did I say now? Right! Time for bed, woman!

Gladly, Id let him help me up and hug him, thankful he understood even without a full explanation. And I promised myself Id tell him what had really been bothering me.

Cathy?

Mmm?

Are we expecting a new baby?

How did you know? I looked at him, astonished.

Oh, woman. Have I not learned your ways? I recognise these night fridge rendezvous. How long?

Three weeks.

Hooray! David hugged me and I shushed him, laughing.

Quiet! Youll wake the kids!

The cat followed us to the bedroom door, then returned to his windowsill, curling up in silence.

It wouldnt be long before silence became a regular visitor to our midnight kitchen. I would be too busy for late-night snacks, and the cat, rather than keeping melancholy company by the fridge, would much prefer curling up in the nursery by the fragrant new cot.

Looking back, I realised this: So much of my life was spent pleasing and worrying and doubting, so afraid to speak, to express, to love or accept love openly. If Id only learned sooner that its alright to be myself, and that the people who love you will love you at any size, with any sorrow or fearI might have found this peace so much sooner. Now, I try to give that lesson to my children, to love them out loud.

And sometimes, I do allow myself a midnight snack, with the cat and David and the quiet hush of a house full of love.