My Boyfriend Only Allergic to My Cat, No More

My boyfriend was allergic to cat hair.

When he was seven, his stepmother deliberately locked him in a room with a feral cat until he was covered in scratches and hives and had to be rushed to the hospital.

After that, Cameron Sutton hated anything that had to do with cats.

But I had an orange cat named Biscuit, six years mine, family to me.

Once, I only brushed against Biscuit's fur by accident.

Cameron wouldn't touch me for a whole week, and told me to keep my distance from Biscuit.

My best friend blamed me too:

"Don't make trouble. You're not really going to hurt your boyfriend over some alley cat, are you?"

Guilty, I moved Biscuit out and kept him somewhere else on his own.

Until the day of the typhoon. Early morning.

Biscuit had a sudden heart attack. I couldn't get a car, and in tears I begged my boyfriend to help me get him to a clinic.

"Cameron, I promise I'll keep Biscuit in his carrier..."

But he said, "Sorry, Charity Fox, I'm busy with work. And just thinking about a cat being there, I can't drive."

I called my best friend, who used to work as a vet, for help. Busy tone.

I ran out into the rain, Biscuit in my arms, running as hard as I could toward the animal clinic.

But I was still too late.

The last thing I expected was to see my best friend and Cameron Sutton standing at the door.

Cameron was holding a few filthy stray cats.

"Thank you, Iris Swanson, and Cameron, for coming out in the middle of the night for our stray-cat rescue drive when you're both so busy."

A girl who looked like a college student gazed up at him, grateful and full of admiration.

His arms were covered in rashes and bloody scratch marks, and he didn't care in the slightest.

He dewormed the kittens with practiced ease and said gently:

"As long as I can help you save them."

Beside him, my best friend teased with a laugh:

"What can we do? Cameron heard you crying and his heart just broke."

The little kittens mewed and mewed.

But in my arms Biscuit had stopped breathing, going slowly cold, stiff.

So it turned out the one people couldn't stand was never Biscuit. It was me.

Then I choose to let go.

1.

On my phone, the chat between me and my best friend stopped an hour ago.

"Iris, you work at the same company as Cameron. Did you see him tonight?"

"Biscuit is sick, but I don't know where Cameron is, and I can't get through to you either."

Her reply was:

"We're all working overtime, we're swamped. Can you please stop being so paranoid."

"Is one little alley cat really worth getting this worked up over?"

And now, the two people who said they were busy were on the street, rescuing strays.

I stood there in my pajamas and slippers, soaked through.

Wretched, I watched them through the clinic's glass window.

Iris fed a cat and joked with the girl next to her:

"Skye Chandler, only you could spot a few strays on the roadside and get the CEO of Nexus Tech himself to come running with one phone call."

"I've pretty much been the witness to you two these last few years. When you get married, don't forget to send me some wedding candy."

The girl's cheeks flushed pink.

Then her eyes suddenly lit up:

"Cameron, one of them is a little ragdoll. I want to adopt it."

Cameron picked up the little ragdoll.

His expensive shirt was shredded in seconds.

But he wasn't the least bit angry.

He kissed the girl's forehead, doting,

and agreed without hesitation.

"Of course, Skye. How can you be so kind."

"Don't worry, I'll take it home with me later. From now on I'll do the litter box. I'll take good care of our little cat."

He was smiling, happy, not a trace of reluctance in it.

So it turned out Cameron Sutton, who hated cats most and was a germaphobe,

could offer to keep a cat and scoop its litter for the person he loved.

Only that person wasn't me.

In that moment, I suddenly regretted all the years I'd wronged Biscuit for his sake.

A cat's life is so short.

How could I have left him all alone in that apartment.

Thinking of him crying at the camera over and over, tireless.

Thinking of the way he lay so obediently by the door, waiting for me to come see him.

My heart clenched hard.

Biscuit was my family. My mother bought him for me before she died.

That day, she stroked my head with her withered hand and looked at me, unwilling to let go:

"My Charity has loved cats since she was little. From now on, let this little one keep you company for me."

The rain was heavy that night. I lost my mother.

Today, six years later, in another downpour,

I lost Biscuit. I lost the Cameron Sutton I loved most, and I lost my best friend.

Touching Biscuit's cold, matted fur, my tears fell without a sound.

I set Biscuit back in his carrier and pushed open the door of the vet clinic.

Straight into the eyes of Cameron Sutton and my best friend.

The same panic flashed through both of them at once.

"Charity, it's so late, why are you here..."

Cameron seemed to have completely forgotten that Biscuit had just had a heart attack.

He shifted forward on instinct, putting himself between me and the little cat and the girl.

I looked right at him and asked, my voice cold:

"Cameron, I had no idea you loved cats this much, that you'd become a stray-rescue volunteer, that you'd come out catching cats in the middle of the night."

His face went ugly. He lowered his voice.

"Charity, let me explain..."

But a clear, bright voice cut him off.

"It's true, he's the person who loves cats most I've ever met!"

The girl's eyes were shining, wide as a doe's, as if she'd missed the sarcasm entirely.

"In two whole years he's never once missed a volunteer event. Even last New Year's Eve he was out helping me catch strays!"

Last New Year's Eve.

Cameron had taken a call, said something about work, thrown on his coat, and left.

On a day meant for family and warmth, I was so alone.

I'd asked if I could come to the apartment and hold Biscuit for a while.

He wrote back fast:

"Charity, you know how it is. Every time you hold that smelly cat, I can't even touch you afterward."

"It's a holiday. You wouldn't really leave your man hanging like that, would you. [pitiful]"

In the end I sat with a plate of cold dumplings and waited up for him all night.

The girl was still counting it off.

"And you know what, the cat food and cans he buys for the strays are all imported brands. You can tell he did his homework."

It came back to me all at once.

He'd once asked me which brand of cat cans was the best.

I'd thought he wanted to buy them for Biscuit.

"Biscuit, say thank you to Daddy."

I'd held Biscuit's paw and made him bow to Cameron.

Filmed it, sent it over.

But the video showed as never received.

And in the end no cans ever came.

Turned out they were for the strays.

"Oh, do you know Cameron?"

The girl looked at me, curious.

"Yes. I'm his"

"The three of us used to be classmates. High school."

My best friend cut in, shooting me frantic looks.

"I'll take her home. Skye, you two go on."

She grabbed my wrist hard and pulled me away.

And on Cameron's face, a pleading look surfaced.

All at once it felt pointless.

I gave a careless nod, turned, and left.

"Charity, it's not what you think!"

Behind me, Iris came running, out of breath.

"We've been friends since we were kids."

"I don't understand why you'd help an outsider, a mistress, lie to me."

I turned on her, eyes red.

"Skye is not a mistress!"

"Don't talk about her like that. Her family and the Suttons go way back. It was only after her parents went bankrupt and had that accident that they lost touch!"

Iris was worked up.

It was the first time she'd ever turned on me with that sharp, cutting tone.

"All these years, both her parents dead, no one but herself to lean on, and she still fought her way into college. A pampered heiress like you would never understand!

"And besides, the two of them were supposed to be promised to each other as kids. If you're counting who came first, you're the mistress."

"She's kind, she's gentle, she depends on us completely, and I will not let you destroy that."

I held the carrier tight against me and stared at her, unable to believe it.

"And what about me?"

Iris gently smoothed back my rain-soaked hair.

Then she draped her coat over me and said softly:

"Hasn't Cameron been good enough to you? Some things, you can't take too seriously."

I wanted to say: Iris, have you forgotten? I've taken things seriously since we were little.

When you were bullied as a kid and everyone told you to let it go, I was the one who stood up for you, hard.

But I didn't say it. All I left her with, worn out, was one line:

"Forget it. I'll just pretend I never had you as a friend."

The rain hadn't stopped. I booked a pet farewell service for Biscuit and had him taken over ahead of time.

Then, like some drenched, lost soul,

I walked home in a daze.

When I opened my phone, I stumbled onto Skye Chandler's account.

The account had been going for two years.

It was packed with stray-cat rescue posts, and Cameron was in every single one.

On an overpass at two in the morning, in the underground garage of some run-down complex, in a filthy dump.

And Iris Swanson had liked and commented under every one.

"Aww, so sweet! What a kind little couple!"

The most recent post was a shot Skye had taken of Cameron's back, captioned:

"Thank you to Cameron, who keeps rescuing even though he's allergic to cat hair! And who donated five hundred thousand to our shelter!"

The comments were all teasing.

"It's obviously all for you! I could hear those wheels turning from overseas!"

Before I knew it, my face was wet with tears again.

Finally I set the phone face down, booked a plane ticket, and sent a message to my aunt.

"Aunt Diana, is that company of yours in Switzerland still hiring?"

Not long after, the smart lock clicked. Cameron was home.

The second he saw me, his eyes went red.

He crouched down carefully in front of me and said,

"Charity, let me explain. I swear, I just felt sorry for her. Nothing happened between us."

"Heaven brought her to me with nowhere to go. She runs herself ragged as a volunteer every day. She needs someone to look after her, and I couldn't just"

"Really? There are plenty of people in this world with nowhere to go. Why don't I ever see you helping every one of them?"

The sarcasm came out on its own.

Cameron's face went a little pale.

After a long silence, he did what he always did and brought over a bowl of hot ginger tea he'd made himself.

"Charity, don't be angry. You're freezing, you got soaked. Be careful you don't catch a cold."

He coaxed, then, without asking, tucked my cold feet against him.

"I'm the one who's sorry. Hit me, curse me, whatever you want."

"Just take care of yourself. It took so long to get you healthy again."

It came back to me all at once.

When I first met him, I was still buried in the grief of losing my mother.

Stomach trouble, headaches, insomnia, over and over.

It was Cameron who fed me three meals a day without fail.

Who bought medicine and chased down home remedies to nurse me back.

In the end I put on weight, and he got much thinner.

And somewhere along the way, he'd found another young, simple girl who needed his care.

Cameron still carried the smell of stray cats on him.

It turned my stomach. I reached out and pushed him away.

"Cameron, let's break up."

He looked up at me, disbelief on his face.

"Charity, but we're getting married."

"Just because I stayed with Skye today instead of going with you to take Biscuit to the vet?"

"Over a cat? Is it really worth it?"

"Do you know? Biscuit is dead."

I answered calmly.

"You wanted to know why I showed up there, didn't you? Because I was holding Biscuit while his heart gave out, running to the animal hospital like a madwoman."

"Because my boyfriend, the one who's scared of cats, was off at a stray-cat rescue and couldn't drive me there."

"You didn't care, because that was my cat, not Skye Chandler's."

Every sound Cameron might have made died in his throat.

He couldn't meet my disappointed eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know"

I turned my head away, not wanting to hear any more.

Before long, it was morning.

I took a cab to the place where Biscuit's farewell was being held.

Cameron followed silently behind me and came in too.

"Charity, I... I want to see Biscuit off one last time."

I ignored him.

Biscuit lay quietly on a little bed, snacks and toys arranged all around him.

I bent over him, crying until I was a mess.

Then a noise broke out at the door.

"Miss, there's a client holding a farewell! You can't go in!"

The next second, Skye came bursting in, out of breath.

"Cameron, Iris said you were here. I knew I'd find you!"

"You didn't pick up my calls. The kitten we adopted, Poppy, is suddenly panicking and won't eat!"

"I really don't know what to do. Can you please come look at Poppy with me"

Cameron's face went tight with worry in an instant.

"What happened? Wasn't she drinking goat's milk just yesterday? I"

He glanced at me, hesitating.

Skye must have sensed something. She rushed over and grabbed my wrist.

"Please, let Cameron stay here. Your cat isn't coming back anyway. He'd do more good coming to save our Poppy."

"If that won't do, we'll pick you out the most expensive purebred cat, as a way to make it up to you. Okay?"

I instinctively tried to shake her off.

But Skye wouldn't let go.

In the scramble she stumbled backward and knocked over the little bed Biscuit was on.

There was a thud.

Biscuit's body hit the floor, the little toys and snacks scattering everywhere, the whole place a wreck.

In that moment I finally couldn't hold it in.

I shoved Skye to the ground and screamed at her,

"Why did you barge in here! Couldn't you see someone was holding a farewell?"

"Your cat won't eat, what's that got to do with me! Are you sick? Get out!"

"Shut up! Stop it!"

Cameron pushed Skye behind him and slapped me hard across the face.

There was a crack, and my head snapped to the side.

"Charity Fox, why are you being so unreasonable now! Why are you bullying a young girl?"

His face was hard, his voice cold.

"The cat is already dead. I apologized, and I even promised to get you a better one. What more do you want?"

With that, he took Skye by the hand and hurried off.

I wiped away my tears, picked Biscuit up, and set him back in place.

I finished the farewell with him alone.

Then I packed my things and went back to the little apartment where I'd first kept Biscuit.

I'd barely gotten home when my aunt called, her voice breaking.

"Charity, I told you to come emigrate over here sooner."

"I really can't stand the thought of you all alone back home"

"Aunt Diana, I'll be there next week."

After I hung up, I booked a flight to Switzerland.

The next morning, a photo landed in my inbox.

A pregnancy test. Two lines.

"Skye's pregnant. We should talk. Meet us at the shelter."

"In case you don't come, I picked up Biscuit's ashes ahead of time. You'll get them back after we talk."

It was Iris who'd sent it.

My hands shook with rage, but there was nothing I could do.

So I showed up in front of them, right on time.

Skye looked frail.

Iris watched her, eyes full of sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Charity. I didn't know you and Cameron were that kind of couple."

Skye's eyes brimmed, and she said in a small voice,

"I'd never dare hope Cameron would marry me. But I really can't live without him."

"And I don't have any family left in this world. I truly want to keep this baby."

Iris chimed in too.

"Charity, think of Cameron for a second. This is his own flesh and blood."

"You're going to be Mrs. Sutton anyway. What would it hurt to accept Skye?"

I looked at her coldly and said nothing.

Then Skye stood up, choking on her words.

"If you won't agree, then this baby and I might as well die."

Suddenly she was frantic, and she bolted toward the second-floor balcony.

That was the scene Cameron walked in on.

"No, Skye!"

He lunged and caught her in his arms, terror all over his face.

"Charity, how could you be this kind of person?"

Iris glared at me too, eyes hot with hatred.

"You want to drive a pregnant woman to her death?"

She was beside herself. She grabbed whatever was at hand and hurled it at me.

In the blur of it, I saw it was a small urn.

Biscuit's ashes.

My heart jumped and I ran toward it on instinct, meaning to catch it.

But Cameron saw me rushing over and thought I was going for Skye.

He shoved me away on guard, with everything he had.

"Have you lost your mind? What are you doing?"

A dull thud, and my body slammed into the railing. I nearly went over the edge.

I curled up around the pain. Then something bright red seemed to be spreading, staining my white dress.

Several seconds passed before Cameron looked up, saw me lying there with a bloodless face, and dialed for an ambulance in a panic.

When I opened my eyes again, I was already in the hospital.

Cameron sat by my bed, his eyes red, like he'd been crying.

"Charity, I'm sorry. I panicked in the moment, and that's how you got hurt."

His voice was hoarse.

"Seeing you lying in a hospital bed, it kills me... I'm sorry. I promise you, once Skye has this baby, I swear I'll have nothing more to do with her. All right?"

Before I could say anything,

Iris knocked at the door, frantic.

"Cameron, Skye got a terrible scare. There are signs she's losing the baby. Go with her for the exam first."

Cameron gave me one guilty look, but he still turned and walked out of the room.

Not long after, a doctor came in and said, a little unwilling to be the one to tell me,

"Miss Fox, I'm sorry. We couldn't save the baby you were carrying."

"Where's your boyfriend? I tried to notify him just now, but... I couldn't find him."

So it turned out I'd been pregnant too.

I froze for a moment, forced the grief down, and answered softly,

"He's not my boyfriend anymore."

The next day, Cameron, who hadn't come home all night, left me a string of messages.

He said Skye was stable now and didn't need him to look after her, and that he could come home any minute.

Then he'd picked out several cute purebred cats and asked which one I liked, and a moment later he was asking what I thought about setting a wedding date.

But he didn't know.

I had already been discharged. I was on a flight to Switzerland, and I was never coming back.