Before It’s Too Late

12September

Emily is due for her operation tomorrow. Its a straightforward, scheduled procedure an hour under anaesthetic, some routine work and shell be sent home the same day. I should have driven her to the hospital, but she insisted she didnt need me. She knows the board is swamped with the launch of our new Manchester branch.

Everything will be fine, she said, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. She tossed a few packets of cat food for the strays living in the cellar into her bag and slipped out.

I readjusted my tie, gave myself one last critical glance in the mirror, grabbed the project folder from the desk and headed to the office. As chief executive of a firm Ive taken from a modest startup to a market leader, Im expected to give everything I have. And I do every spare minute, every spare thought, all in the name of the company, of Emily, even of the basement cats she never forgets to feed.

Im not a cat person, not that I dislike them, theyre just her hobby, something Ive always thought a bit pointless. It felt like a quirk I had to tolerate, the way you tolerate a partners odd habits. So when she tried to bring home any more fleariddled strays, I shut the door in their faces. Theres no point, Id say. No benefit. I suggested we get a pedigree Oriental cat instead at least it would look respectable. The cellar cats? I never understood why she cared so much, and she was tired of explaining.

***

Operation simple scheduled nothing special I should have gone with her!!!

How many times this week have I replayed that line in my head? Thousands? Ten thousand? I remember racing to the hospital, abandoning everything, clutching the white coats cuffs, my hands shaking as the surgeons eyes swept over me. I tore the project file to shreds, pleading, on my knees by her bedside, forehead pressed to her hand, begging her not to give up. Come back. Open your eyes. Say one word.

She stayed silent. Neither of us realised that a routine hour of anaesthetic could turn into a battle for life.

Were doing everything we can, the doctor tried to assure me.

Youre doing nothing! I snapped, furious and helpless, paying for a private room for her.

Theres a chance; we just need to wait, the nurse whispered.

Wheres that chance? I shouted down the corridor when a week passed and she still lay unmoving.

I tried everything: consulted the best specialists, played her favourite music, flooded the ward with flowers. I skipped work whenever I could just to sit by her bedside. I begged, promised, even threatened. In moments of reckless desperation I kissed her, recalling the ridiculous fairytale of the sleeping beauty, and each day the hopelessness grew heavier.

I overturned a chair, smashed a vase. In a fit of rage I hurled my bag, its colourful catfood packets scattering across the floor. Emily never got the chance to feed those cats the very ones Id always dismissed with a feigned indifference.

Dreadful! Lord, how dreadful!

If only I could turn back the clock, erase the mistake, crawl on my knees and fetch every one of those stray cats for her, love them just to see her smile.

The adrenaline that had been pulsing through me finally drained. I stared at the mess Id created, trembled, and gathered the packets of cat food, knowing in ten minutes Id be standing at the cellar door again.

***

This is called felinotherapy, the attending doctor said seriously, watching me lug a sixth carrier into the ward. There are no recorded cases exactly like ours, but

So well be pioneers, I whispered, releasing the cats from their cages.

Theyre hers, I added, voice cracking. Id give anything to tell her that.

Ill inform the staff, the nurse replied.

Thank you. I should have done this sooner I stammered.

Never lose hope, the doctor said. We all learn from our mistakes, remember that.

I wont forget, I promised, feeling the resolve settle in my chest.

***

Tomorrow Emily will have that operation again simple, scheduled, an hour under a mask, and she will leave the hospital the same day. She still doesnt demand my presence, but she cant hide that grin when she watches me, tie loosened, fumble with a sixth harness for the cats that dart away from my grip.

Those cellar cats, the fleacovered ones that nearly broke my heart a year ago when she first awoke, breathing shallowly after the anaesthetic, will be there again. Seven pairs of eyes drilling into mine, six soft sighs barely audible, and one triumphant cry Ill never forget.

Perhaps thats why, as she prepares for another round, she feels no fear. When she sees me, hair from the cat fur tangled in my shirt, looking at her with a mix of shame and affection, she smiles wider. And then she laughs, watching the bewildered passersby stare at a man in an expensive suit, surrounded by six immaculate, mixedbreed cats each tugging a delicate lead, their collective Meow? echoing down the street a sight not for the fainthearted.

The operation is simple, scheduled, an hour under a mask, and a discharge the same day. If you keep gnawing at everything, next time youll be stuck at home, a weary voice mutters from the hospital garden, a man perched on a bench with a slightly chewed yet still lovely bouquet of roses on his lap.

I glance at my watch, readjust the six colourful leashes, make sure none of the harnesses have come loose, then look toward the ward where Emily will soon stir. Soon theyll let me in. Then Ill finally be able to vent about those six tailwagging freeloaders who refuse to listen to me without her.

And Ill tell her how much I love her. Ill love her forever, even if she spends days in the cat sanctuary our company funded a few months ago.

It sounds foolish, but each time I recall the morning she opened her eyes, Im convinced theres nothing more important in my life than that little idiot of hers. And so Ill keep chasing those wild, fleeting whims that somehow make her glow.

Its never too late to step back, to listen, and to remember that hope, however fragile, is the only thing worth holding onto.