Not The Cat Lover He Remembers

During our first year of marriage, he personally wrote on the first aid kit in bold red marker: Audrey's Emergency Meds: Cat Allergy / Asthma Inhaler.

By the second year, the kit had been moved from the entryway to the utility closet. He said we rarely used it and it was just cluttering the hallway.

In our third year, Simon stood before me, cradling a fluffy Ragdoll cat in his arms, a warm smile on his face.

"I have a severe cat allergy," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Did you forget?"

His hand froze mid-stroke.

"Wait, aren't you afraid of dogs?"

I had never been afraid of dogs. The one afraid of dogs was not me. But I knew exactly who loved cats.

His first love, Fiona.

I did not push him further. I just swallowed my antihistamine with practiced ease and slipped on a face mask.

He let out a sigh of relief, thinking the matter was settled.

Late that night, after he drifted off to sleep, I placed the bottle of allergy medication right next to the black coffee mug he used every single morning. If he saw the bottle while pouring his coffee and asked me about it, it would mean he still cared enough to recognize what it was. But if he just picked up his mug, his gaze sliding right past the bottle as if it were nothing but an annoying piece of clutter, then I suppose I was nothing but clutter to him too.

"Simon, what time are you leaving this morning?"

He was putting on his shoes in the hallway, not even bothering to look up. His eyes briefly swept over the prescription bottle sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Seven-thirty. Why?"

"Nothing."

I stood by the kitchen door, clutching the empty bottle. He had rinsed his mug, leaving wet rings on the counter, but the bottle remained exactly where I had placed it, untouched and ignored.

I unscrewed the cap and dumped the last few pills down the drain. They rattled softly against the stainless steel sink.

Before heading out, he planted a quick kiss on my forehead.

"Don't wait up for me tonight. I have plans."

His gaze had not lingered on my lifeline for even a fraction of a second.

I walked over to the utility closet. The first aid kit had been shoved deep into the back, buried beneath a folding stool and an unopened bag of cat litter. He claimed the cat was gone, but the cat litter remained. The bag was neatly tied, looking far from discarded.

I set the folding stool aside and dragged the kit out. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, but the red lettering on the lid was still visible: Audrey's Emergency Meds: Cat Allergy / Asthma Inhaler.

The year we got married, I accidentally touched a friend's cat and nearly went into anaphylactic shock. He had rushed downstairs barefoot in the middle of the night to buy me medicine. Once the danger passed, he knelt on the floor with bloodshot eyes, carefully writing those words.

"Audrey, just in case. I am not taking a single risk with your life."

Now, the box holding my survival was rotting in a corner, weighed down by unused cat litter.

With trembling fingers, I wiped away the dust and popped the lid open.

The asthma inhaler had expired eight months ago. The antihistamines were completely empty. The protective sleeve of the EpiPen had yellowed, a clear sign of poor storage conditions. This was a critical issue because these injectors lose potency when exposed to temperatures above seventy-seven degrees. During the summer, the utility closet was a sweltering oven without any air conditioning.

Slumping against the wall, I stared at the useless medical waste scattered on the floor, a literal countdown to my own demise. It was almost laughable.

He used to have a recurring alarm on his phone every three months to check my meds. It had been silenced long ago, deleted without a trace.

I carried the open kit back to the entryway table, arranging the expired medications with their labels facing upward. Then, I went to pack my things.

Three years of marriage, and my belongings were shockingly sparse. A few seasonal coats, an inhaler that was about a third full, my ID and passport, and a small notebook containing my financial codes. My twenty inch carry-on suitcase was only half full.

I stood by the door for a moment, looking at the open kit on the table, and then at the red handwriting I had just dusted off.

It was time to leave.

At nine that evening, Simon called. His voice dripped with annoyance.

"What are you doing? Why are all the lights off?"

"I am not home."

"Where are you?"

"Staying somewhere else."

Silence hung on the line for a second before his tone shifted to a mix of worry and exasperation.

"What is it this time? Why are you throwing a tantrum in the middle of the night?"

"I left the first aid kit on the entryway table. You must have seen it when you walked in."

"What about it?"

"The medicine inside is expired, Simon. It has been expired for a very long time."

The line went dead silent for a long five seconds.

"Audrey, can you speak like a rational human being? You packed up and left in the middle of the night over a first aid kit?"

A rational human being.

"Maybe I am not rational, Simon."

My voice trembled with rising emotion.

"I have a severe cat allergy. Don't tell me you forgot. That EpiPen and inhaler in the kit are things I have to carry with me for the rest of my life."

He did not answer.

"You used to care. But now, you want a cat, or maybe you want something else entirely."

"Audrey, I..."

A long pause stretched over the line before his voice crackled through the speaker again.

"I didn't mean to. I just forgot."

"Save your breath, Simon. You didn't forget. You just stopped caring. Go back to your cat-loving first love. She doesn't need a first aid kit."

With that, I hung up. The moment the screen went dark, I blocked his number.

On the evening of the third day, I went back to the apartment to retrieve my health insurance card. Judging by his usual schedule, he should not have been home yet. But when I slid my key into the lock, I noticed warm light spilling from beneath the door.

Simon was standing in the kitchen, his apron tied slightly askew. Two pots simmered on the stove, one with soup bubbling inside, the other holding a half-cooked stir-fry left to cool. Hearing the door, he turned around, spatula in hand.

"You're back?"

His tone was perfectly casual, as if nothing had happened.

"I'm just grabbing something and leaving." I walked straight past him toward the bedroom, refusing to waste another second.

By the time I found the card and came back out, he had set the dishes on the dining table and pulled out a chair.

"Sit down and eat. It's warm. I bet you've only had instant noodles since yesterday."

Ignoring him, I grabbed my bag and headed for the front door.

Suddenly, he rushed up from behind and wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. "Audrey, I know I messed up. Please stop fighting with me, okay?"

Before I could even struggle to free myself, a sharp, familiar irritation invaded my sinuses. My airways constricted instantly. My chest tightened as a suffocating wave of panic rushed up my throat.

Summoning every ounce of strength, I shoved him away, clutching my chest as a high-pitched wheeze escaped my throat. Looking down, I saw several long, white hairs clinging to the front of his knit sweater.

"You saw Fiona today," I gasped, staring at him as I struggled to draw breath.

His face froze. He took a half-step back, his voice turning raspy. "What are you talking about? I was at the office all day."

"There is Ragdoll fur all over your sweater!" I leaned against the wall, my vision beginning to blur. "What was her cat's name again? Snowball, right?"

"There was a stray cat outside the office. During lunch, I went out and..."

"A long-haired stray?" I scoffed, a violent cough ripping through my chest, tearing at my raw airways. "Simon, do you think I don't know what a purebred Ragdoll looks like?"

He fell silent, tugging at the hem of his sweater. His eyes darted to the side, a telltale sign of his dishonesty. He was lying.

I did not have the energy to argue. Stumbling into the bathroom, I fumbled through my bag for my backup antihistamines and a newly opened inhaler, swallowing the pills with a mouthful of tap water.

"Audrey," he said, following me to the hallway, his voice tight. "Are you really making this big of a deal out of it?"

"My lungs are failing because you are covered in deadly allergens!" I tried to make a break for the door, but a sudden wave of dizziness pinned me to the spot.

The heavy sedative effect of the antihistamines, combined with the lack of oxygen and the sheer exhaustion of not eating for a day, drained the remaining strength from my limbs. My knees buckled. I stumbled into the guest room and collapsed onto the bed, too weak to even lock the door behind me.

I do not know how much time passed before the door clicked open in my semi-conscious haze. He had changed into fresh pajamas, smelling of soap and the damp warmth of a recent shower.

"I showered and changed everything. I'm sorry. I'll be more careful."

My body felt like lead. Unable to lift a single finger, I watched helplessly as he climbed into bed beside me, pulling me close and draping a heavy arm over my shoulder. Before long, his breathing evened out, and he drifted off to sleep.

Trapped in his embrace, I stared blankly at the ceiling, my eyes wide open. The cat hair was gone from his clothes, and the unfamiliar scent of jasmine perfume had washed away, but a faint red scratch on the side of his right index finger remained highly visible. It was the unmistakable mark of a cat's claw, left behind when the pampered creature had kicked off from his chest.

I turned my head away and shut my eyes. In the hazy quiet of the night, his wedding proposal echoed in my mind.

"I will protect you for the rest of our lives. I'll never let anything hurt you."

The air purifier we bought for our new home sat in the corner of the master bedroom, plugged in with its green indicator light glowing. I could not remember the last time the filter had been changed. He probably did not even know it had one.

A week later, my health took a turn for the worse. The lingering allergens had contaminated every square inch of the apartment. I called a cab and headed straight for the emergency room.

The attending physician took my medical chart, flipped through the pages, and stared at me for a long moment.

"Audrey?"

It took me several seconds of peering through the fog of my nebulizer mask to recognize him.

Marcus. We had been lab partners in biology class back in college.

A faint twitch played at the corner of his mouth, a flash of surprise lighting up his eyes before he quickly composed himself. He did not ask what I was doing there. After adjusting the nebulizer settings, he pulled up a chair beside my bed and opened my allergy history, his tone as professional and detached as ever.

"This is your third acute attack this month. I just reviewed the logs from your last two visits."

"Yeah."

"Every single one was triggered by cat dander, yet your residential profile says there are no pets in your home." He closed the folder. "When did this start?"

I thought about it. "About three months ago."

He flipped to my medication sheet and studied it for a moment.

"You're only taking oral antihistamines. What about your emergency plan? Do you have an EpiPen?"

"It's in the kit, but it might be expired."

He looked down and scribbled a few notes.

"For cat allergies, we can start you on immunotherapy shots. It won't cure you completely, but it will raise your tolerance threshold so that daily life isn't affected. The treatment takes six months to a year. You'll get shots once a week for the first three months, then once every two weeks. You'll need to stay for a thirty minute observation after each dose."

He placed a business card next to my hand.

"This is my clinic info. Come see me if you want to start."

I held the card, sitting in silence for a moment.

"Marcus, how did you end up in allergy and immunology?"

"I switched specialties during my residency." He stood up and slid the chair back into place. "How did things get this bad? Your chart shows you've been visiting the ER almost every month lately."

I bit my lip and remained silent. He did not press for answers. He had always been that way in college, knowing when to stop asking when he knew I would not answer.

Once, I had an attack in the campus library and could not find my inhaler in my backpack. He had dug it out from the side pocket of my purse. Later, he told me: "You should always make sure someone next to you knows exactly where your medicine is."

On the way home, my best friend, Sienna, came to pick me up. She glanced at me with concern.

"How many times has this been this week?"

"Four times."

"What about the cat? I thought you said he gave it away."

I kept quiet, leaning against the window and watching the streetlights blur past.

Simon was not home that night. I went into the walk-in closet and searched the pockets of the winter coat he wore most often. In one of the pockets, I found a long strand of hair. It was not mine.

I placed the strand back, hung up the coat, and went to check the logs of our smart doorbell camera. Someone had visited last Thursday afternoon. Simon was not home, but a long-haired woman was at the door.

Before entering, she shook out her coat, cradled the white Ragdoll cat, and paused at the threshold. She deliberately rubbed the cat against my coat hanging in the entryway, then looked directly into the camera lens with a smug, knowing smile before stepping inside.

Three hours later, she and Simon walked out of the apartment together.

She knew exactly where the camera was, she knew our door code, and she knew my marriage was already dead in the water.

When I saw the live feed on my phone later, I stopped dead in my tracks in the hallway. Fiona was lounging on our living room sofa, the Ragdoll cat curled up on her lap. Simon was in the kitchen brewing tea, unable to hide the sheer delight on his face.

Standing in the corridor, I unlocked my phone and dialed 911.

The dispatcher picked up.

"I am a severe asthmatic with a life-threatening cat allergy. Someone has brought a lethal allergen into my home. I am heading inside now, and I need police dispatch to record this call and send officers immediately."

The dispatcher told me officers would arrive in ten to fifteen minutes and instructed me to keep the line open. I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

Fiona was the first to spot me. She stood up gracefully. The cat leaped from her lap, landing softly on the carpet, and began to saunter toward me with slow, lazy strides. White fur drifted through the sunbeams. Even my double face mask was useless against it.

Microscopic dander penetrated my defenses, and in less than a minute, my throat began to constrict violently.

"Oh, Audrey. You're home," Fiona said. Her voice was sickeningly sweet, though her eyes were sharp and calculated. "I just stopped by for a chat. I hope you don't mind."

Mind? Of course I minded, but I could not even speak. My brain was running a frantic calculation. How long could my lungs hold out? Where was the kit? Was the EpiPen still functional?

As I stumbled toward the entryway, the cat took another step closer, brushing against my ankles. The first aid kit was gone from the entryway table. I had left it there, but someone must have shoved it back into the dark corners of the utility closet.

I flung the closet door open, digging through the clutter with fingers that were already going numb from lack of oxygen. An inhaler, an EpiPen, anything to save my life.

The scent of jasmine perfume drew closer behind me.

"Oh, sweetheart, what's wrong? Can't breathe?" Fiona's voice was dripping with venomous concern as she hurried over in her high heels. "Let me help you with that. Don't worry..."

"Get away from me," I wheezed.

My voice was a raspy choke, but I gripped the edges of the first aid kit, shielding it with my body. Her hand clamped down on mine, her grip far tighter than anyone trying to help would ever use. Gasping uselessly for air, my fingertips finally brushed against the plastic casing of the auto-injector.

In that split second, Fiona made a sudden, violent swiping motion under the guise of steadying me. The first aid kit crashed onto the hard tile floor, the latches popping open. The EpiPen rolled out, spinning across the floor, its casing gleaming under the ceiling light.

I lunged forward, throwing my entire weight toward it. Just as my fingers were about to close around it, Fiona shrieked, "Watch out!"

Her stiletto heel came down with pinpoint accuracy, stomping directly onto the cylinder.

There was a sharp, sickening crunch. It was the sound of shattering glass, and with it, my final lifeline was destroyed. The clear medication mingled with the tiny shards of glass, seeping into the grout lines in a useless puddle.

Fiona gasped, instantly covering her mouth as crocodile tears welled up in her eyes. She turned to Simon, who had just rushed out of the kitchen at the noise, her voice trembling with mock terror.

"Simon, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I panicked and stepped on it. She won't hate me, will she?"

Simon stood there, looking at Fiona with a deep frown. "How could you be so careless?"

He reached out to help me, but I waved him off, stumbling backward. He was covered in the very particles that were killing me.

"Meds... Simon..." I slumped against the wall, every attempt to draw breath a violent struggle.

"Don't panic. I'll look. There has to be more..." He shoved past Fiona to search the apartment.

But then his gaze fell on the phone clutched in my trembling hand. The call with the dispatcher was still active, the screen glowing in the dim light. The panic drained from his eyes instantly, replaced by cold disbelief.

"Audrey, are you out of your mind? You called the police over this?"

A horrific, guttural wheeze tore from my throat. Every desperate breath felt like razor blades shredding my trachea. Staring at them, I used the absolute last bit of oxygen in my lungs to force out a few broken words.

"Breaking in with a lethal allergen... destroying emergency medication..." I glared at him, a trace of bloody foam bubbling at the corner of my lips. "Simon... attempted murder... you're going to prison..."

"You're completely overreacting..."

Before he could finish his sentence, the shrill wail of approaching sirens pierced the walls of the apartment. The sound choked the rest of his words back down his throat, freezing the annoyance right on his face.