The Cat Slept with My Wife: How Our Spoiled Grey Feline Bullied Me Out of Bed, Claimed the Best Fish…

So, listen, the cat used to sleep right next to my wife. Hed wedge his back firmly against her and push me away with all four paws, as if the entire bed belonged to him and I was just an awkward guest. In the morning, hed give me this cheeky, mocking look, like he was daring me to complain. Id grumble about it, but lets be honest, what could I do? He was the little prince, sweetheart and golden boy of the house. My wife would laugh, but it was only really funny for her.

This so-called darling would get his own special grilled fish not from just anywhere, mind you, but from the best local market and my wife would carefully remove the bones and create a neat little pile of crispy skin right next to the steaming, juicy chunks on his plate. Hed glance over at me with a sideways smirk as if to say, Youre just the underdog here. Im the real boss.

What did I get from the fancy fish? The scraps, the bits too tough for his royal highness. To be honest, he tormented me in any way he could: Id nudge him gently away from my dinner plate, or sometimes, when hed made himself too cosy on the sofa, give him a discreet shove. It was an ongoing cold war.

Every now and then Id find unpleasant little surprises waiting in my slippers or shoes, timed perfectly for maximum annoyance. My wife would just giggle, Well, dont pick on him then, and stroke her favourite boy. The grey cat would watch me with a look of utter superiority, as if he was magnanimously letting me share the house. What could I do? I only had one wife, and it was clear I wasnt top of her list. I had to put up with things. But then, there was this morning

That morning, as I was getting ready for work, I heard my wifes desperate scream from the hallway. When I rushed in, I found six kilos of fluff, claws, and seething rage launching himself at her like a bull charging a red cape. When the furry menace spotted me, he leapt at my chest and shoved me so hard I flew out of the hallway and landed flat on the floor.

Scrambling up, I grabbed a chair and brandished it like a shield, dragged my wife by the hand, and bolted for the bedroom. The cat gave an almighty yowl as he crashed into one of the chair legs, but that didnt slow him down. He was still coming for us, hissing and spitting, until we slammed the bedroom door behind us. We stood listening to him fuming in the corridor and then started dabbing our battle wounds with alcohol and iodine from the first aid box.

Standing in the bedroom, my wife rang her office to explain our cat had gone bananas and scratched us all over so wed have to go to the A&E instead of work. After she called, I rang my boss and repeated the whole tale word for word, ridiculous as it sounded. And then…

The ground shook, the house actually shuddered under us. In the kitchen there was a crack and the window shattered, and in the bathroom the outside pane splintered. My mobile clattered to the floor as everything went silent for a split second. We forgot about the cat and sprinted out to the kitchen to look outside.

A massive crater gaped in front of our building. Wreckage from cars was strewn everywhere. Our neighbours little van the one he always filled up with gas canisters for his job must have exploded. Cars on the car park were tipped over and battered like so many helpless turtles. Sirens were blaring in the distance, police and ambulances on their way.

Stunned, my wife and I whirled round. There was our cat, curled up in a corner, cradling his battered front paw to his chest, quietly whimpering.

My wife rushed over, swept him up and hugged him to her heart. I grabbed my car keys and we dashed out, skipping the lift and bolting down all seven flights by the stairs, not saying a word.

I know it sounds dreadful, but all I could think was never mind the disaster outside, we had our own little emergency.

Luckily our car was parked at the back, untouched. We piled in and sped to the vets Ive known for ages. My heart was pounding, and, just my luck, Mikael Tariverdievs Two in a Café was playing on the radio really twisting the knife.

An hour later, my wife came out of the vets with the cat in her arms. Our little guy was brandishing his bandaged leg for all to see. When the other people at the practice heard what had happened, they came over to fuss and stroke him.

Back home, my wife set about making his favourite fish, crisply fried just the way he liked it. She painstakingly removed every bone and piled the crunchy bits neatly for him, handing me what was left.

Our cat, hobbling on three legs, sniffed at his plate, his face contorted with pain as he looked at me. He tried to give me his usual scornful face, but it came out all wrong just a grimace.

I was busy, doing my own thing, but when I was finished I went over, took the fish from my plate, and dropped the boneless bits into his bowl.

He stared up at me, stunned, clutching his injured leg to his chest, and gave me a soft, questioning meow.

I scooped him up, brought him to my face and said, Maybe I am a bit of a loser. But if Ive got you and your mum with me, then Im the luckiest loser in the world. And I gave him a big kiss on the nose.

He purred softly and nudged my cheek with his broad head. I set him down and, despite the pain, he started tucking into his food, while my wife and I hugged and smiled at him.

From then on, the cat chose to sleep with me. Hed look into my face, and every night I just prayed for more years with him and my wife by my side.

And honestly, I dont need anything else. That really is all the happiness in the world, I swear.