The Cat in Heat and the Other Woman

My usually fastidious Ragdoll cat has been consistently peeing on my husband's pillow lately. Scolding and even punishment didn't work, and the vet found no issues. Desperate, I consulted a famous pet influencer online. After watching a video I sent, he messaged a single line: The cat is marking its territory. Your man smells of a cat in heat, and your cat is threatening it by covering the scent with its own urine.

My heart sank. I cautiously asked my husband, who was washing the bedsheets, "Did you upset Muffin? Why does he only pee on your side, not mine?"

His hands stiffened. He feigned composure. "Maybe it's my mother visiting. She always has a strong dog smell about her."

I didn't call him out. The next day, I went straight to his office. The moment I pushed open the door, I saw a young woman, a scholarship student we sponsored, cradling a cat and leaning against him coyly. "Mr. Kingston, my Mittens only stops meowing when you hold her. Please comfort her a little more."

Mystery solved. It wasn't just the cat in heat.

I walked over, smiling, and picked up the hot coffee from his desk. "So much discomfort. Let me help you cool down, sweetheart."

The scalding Americano coffee splashed entirely onto Michael Kingston's custom-tailored suit. He shot up from his executive chair. "Vivian... what brings you here?" His features contorted for a split second, clearly from the burn. Without bothering to wipe the mess from his suit, he strode over in two steps, trying to shield the young woman.

"Don't misunderstand, it's really a misunderstanding. This is Jasmine, the scholarship student we sponsor, Jasmine Han. She found a stray cat and didn't know how to care for it. The cat was in heat and meowing wildly, and she got scared, so she brought it to ask me." Michael adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, speaking rapidly, his eyes avoiding mine.

I didn't look at him; my gaze swept past him to Jasmine in the corner. I remembered Jasmine; she was the prettiest among the many scholarship students. It was ironic; three years ago, she was digging coal with her father. Now, she was wearing a seasonal Chanel tweed dress.

Hearing Michael's words, she flinched, lowered her head, her long hair obscuring half her face. I walked towards her. Jasmine took a step back, her back pressing against the wall. I reached out, my fingertip hooking the silver necklace around her neck. The pendant was a small woven ball, stuffed with catnip. "This necklace, I bought it for my dog. Why is a person wearing it? What nonsense!" My fingers tightened, and I yanked hard. The delicate chain snapped, leaving a red mark on her pale neck. Jasmine gasped, clutching her throat. Tears streamed down her face, but she bit her lip, saying nothing.

I tossed the necklace, still warm from her skin, into the nearby waste bin. "Darling, a Chanel dress isn't something a scholarship can buy, is it?" My tone was calm, without inflection. "You're about to graduate from university. I arranged an internship for you, paved the way for your career. Is this how you repay me? Coming into the CEO's office to... well, heat up with a cat in heat?"

Jasmine abruptly looked up at me, her eyes bloodshot, her mouth opening, then timidly glancing at Michael. Michael quickly interjected, "Vivian, why are you speaking so harshly? She's just a young girl who doesn't know any better; she got lost and came here. She's always looked up to you as an idol, wanting to get close to us. There's nothing terribly wrong with that." He walked over and put his arm around my shoulder, pressing his palm firmly. "I'll have someone escort her out right away. She won't be allowed back. Darling, I swear, I only love you in this life."

I twisted away from his hand, took a wet wipe from my bag, and meticulously cleaned each finger that had touched the necklace. "No need for 'later'." I threw the wet wipe on the floor. "Notify HR. Jasmine Han's internship is terminated. Her post-graduation job recommendations are also canceled. Since she loves caring for cats, she can go work at a pet store."

Michael's face stiffened, but quickly returned to normal. He waved a hand at Jasmine. "Aren't you going to thank Vivian for her guidance? Get out!" Jasmine bit her lower lip, her eyes watering as she glanced at Michael, then abandoning the cat, she scurried out of the office. Michael breathed a sigh of relief, thinking the matter was over. He let go of me and turned to the break room to find a spare pair of trousers. I straightened my collar and walked out of the office.

Just as I was about to leave, I saw that same orange cat emerge from the general office area, a pair of fishnet stockings in its mouth. The curious employees who had been peeking out instantly recoiled. The entire office fell silent. Michael, having changed his trousers, came out just in time to see this. His reaction was lightning fast. In a few strides, he kicked the orange cat in the stomach. The cat shrieked, dropped the stockings, and darted out the door. Michael bent down, picked up the crumpled stockings, and tossed them into a waste bin. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

The speakerphone was on. "Marcus! What the hell is wrong with you?" Michael roared into the phone, veins bulging on his neck. "I was kind enough to lend you my office for interviews, what are you doing bringing those random women in here? Things got left in my office, and now Vivian's completely misunderstood! Get over here and explain yourself!" The other end was silent for a few seconds, then Marcus's slurred laughter came through. "Oh, Michael, my apologies, my apologies. Had a bit too much to drink last night. Is Vivian there? Vivian, don't be mad, it's all my fault, won't happen again, won't happen again."

Michael hung up the phone, looking helplessly at me, spreading his hands. "See? I told you it was that jerk, Marcus. He's been going wild lately with his wife divorcing him. I clearly picked the wrong friends. I'll definitely give him a piece of my mind when I get back." He walked over, took my hand, and kissed it. "Darling, don't let outsiders ruin what we have. I'll have HR process Jasmine's termination immediately. Is that alright?"

I pulled my hand away. "Fine. If it's Marcus's business, then let's move on." Michael visibly relaxed, immediately summoning administration and HR. In front of me, he processed Jasmine's termination paperwork, even having security watch her pack her belongings and leave. Everything seemed professional and decisive.

That evening, I had a spa appointment with Marcus's wife, Gina. The scent of essential oils filled the room as Gina hummed contentedly on the massage bed. "Vivian, you're just lucky. Michael is famously devoted to his family. Not like my deadbeat husband, useless at everything." I closed my eyes, casually asking, "Marcus has been quite busy lately, hasn't he? I heard he was working late at the office last night?"

"Working late my ass!" Her voice was loud, and she suddenly sat up, her towel half-slipped. "My mother's birthday was these past few days. He's been at her old house in the countryside, slaughtering chickens for her! Last night he drank too much and threw up all over the bed, didn't even know where he'd thrown his phone. I had to find it for him. He's not going to the office until tomorrow. Is everything alright?"

I opened my eyes, looking at the chandelier on the ceiling. Indeed, that scoundrel!

Back home, Michael was in his study, reviewing reports. Seeing me enter, he took off his glasses and rubbed his temples. "Darling, you're back? I warmed some milk for you." A warm glass of milk sat on the table. I picked up the cup, my gaze sweeping over the open ledger. "The company's entertainment expenses are quite high lately, aren't they?" I asked casually. Michael's hand paused, then he smoothly replied, "We're negotiating that tech park project, you know. Entertaining clients and giving gifts is part of it. Once we land the project, this money will all be repaid twofold." I nodded, carrying the milk away, but didn't drink a drop.

Back in the bedroom, I opened my laptop and pulled up the electronic statements for our family account. Michael was very cautious, deleting all obvious transfer records. But he made one oversight: he forgot that bank statements would show ATM withdrawal locations. For the past three months, even without any apparent entertainment expenses, his supplementary card had frequently been used to withdraw large amounts of cash from the same place: West Creek Gardens branch. That was the most expensive neighborhood near Jasmine's university.

Over the next week, Michael was impeccable. He came home promptly every day, turned down all social engagements, and even voluntarily took on the task of brushing Muffin's fur. Muffin was my Ragdoll cat, whom I'd raised for five years, usually very clingy to Michael. But these past few days, whenever Michael approached, Muffin would puff up his fur, growling low in his throat, even trying to scratch him. "Is this cat sick? Such a temper." Michael recoiled, looking at a red scratch on the back of his hand, frowning. "Maybe it's shedding season. He's in a bad mood." I sat on the sofa, trimming flower branches, not looking up.

When I left work on Friday, it suddenly poured rain. As I stepped out of the office building, I saw Michael's car parked by the roadside, its hazard lights flashing in the downpour. He wasn't carrying an umbrella; he clutched a brown paper bag and hurried towards me. The rain drenched his hair and shoulders, his suit clinging to him, making him look a bit disheveled.

"Vivian!" He ran up to me, presenting the steaming paper bag like a treasure. "Freshly roasted chestnuts, from your favorite place. I queued for half an hour and kept them warm in my coat. They're still hot." I looked at his rain-streaked face, momentarily lost in thought. Ten years ago, we were like this too. We had just started our business, broke as can be. I worked late into the night, and he would wait downstairs for me, holding a bag of hot chestnuts just like this. Back then, we couldn't even afford a car; we'd squeeze onto a second-hand electric scooter, sharing a bag of chestnuts. Though it was cold, our hearts were warm. Whenever I was upset, he would use this trick to comfort me. And I would always soften.

"Get in quickly, don't catch a cold." Michael shielded my head with one hand, pulling open the car door with the other. The heater in the car was on full blast. He took a towel and gently wiped the raindrops from my hair. "Darling, try one. I specifically peeled it for you." He offered me a golden chestnut. I took the chestnut but didn't eat it. Using the interior reading light, my gaze fell on his hand, which he had just pulled back. Clamped between the index finger and thumb of his left hand was a single orange cat hair. Our Muffin is white. And in Michael's office that day, the cat Jasmine was holding was an orange tabby.

"Husband." I squeezed the chestnut, my voice very soft. "You have another cat outside." Michael, about to start the car, his hand suddenly jerked, almost dropping the keys. "Vivian, what are you talking about? Muffin is the only cat I have..." I raised my hand, holding up the orange cat hair I had pinched between my fingers, right in front of his eyes. "You're truly disgusting."

Michael stared at the hair, his pupils constricting violently. He frantically grabbed a tissue to wipe his hand, rubbing so hard his skin turned red. "This... this is that... oh, right! I remember now!" He stammered an explanation. "When I was buying chestnuts just now, there was a stray cat by the roadside. I felt sorry for it and gave it some food. It must have gotten on me then. Vivian, you know I'm a clean freak. How could I possibly keep another cat? I'm going to wash my hands! I'm going to wash my hands right now!" He pushed open the car door, rushed into the rain, and ran to a public water tap by the roadside, furiously scrubbing his hands.

His spare phone lay on the passenger seat. The screen lit up. A message popped up. The sender was labeled "Service Provider."

[The cage is rented. Your stray cat is too much trouble. The new cage cost tens of thousands. Bro, you owe me for this!]

I looked at the line of text and smiled. Stray cat. Cage. Rental. Michael, you're calling Jasmine a stray cat, and disguising your secret lover as a rented cage. Do you think this is still ten years ago, and I'm still that fool who could be placated with just a bag of chestnuts? It's time for a clean break. I called my lawyer.