When I returned from a short trip, I discovered that my mother-in-law had decided to “free” me from my beloved cat, Benji. But thanks to my neighbor’s quick thinking and some dirt from the past, I not only got my cat back but also found the strength to free myself from a useless husband.
Benji wasn’t just a pet to me. He was my heart, my comfort, my family. I rescued him as a kitten when I was drowning in grief after losing my father. My husband, John, never understood. He called my bond with Benji “weird.”
A woman smiling and holding a white cat while a man stands in the background with crossed arms | Source: Midjourney
But I never imagined he and his mother, Carol, would take things this far.
The house felt wrong the moment I walked in after my weekend trip with my girlfriends. The usual patter of paws across hardwood floors was missing.
Some people believed cats weren’t as attached to their owners as dogs, but Benji could prove them all wrong. He always greeted me.
A white cat sitting on a shelf | Source: Pexels
But on this day, instead of his meows, I got silence. And even worse, I could detect the faint scent of my mother-in-law’s overpowering perfume lingering in the air.
I walked further into the house and saw John sprawled on the couch, distracted by his phone.
“Where’s Benji?” I wondered.
“No idea. Maybe he ran off,” he replied with a shrug.
A man sitting on a sofa holding a phone and looking up | Source: Midjourney
The casual tone in his voice set off my alarm bells. Benji never “ran off.” He was an indoor cat who got nervous just looking at the backyard through the window.
That’s when I noticed Carol sitting at the dining table with a smug smile playing on her thin lips as she sipped her coffee.
“Where is my cat?” I demanded, walking toward her.
A woman in a living room looks angry | Source: Midjourney
Carol set down the mug with deliberate slowness. “Well…” she began. “I used your time away to do what was necessary. Finally, you’re free from that animal.”
“Excuse me?”
“You were way too obsessed with that disgusting fur ball to focus on what really matters. It’s time to start a family,” she continued. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
An older woman with an impassive face sitting at a dining table | Source: Midjourney
Fire. Pure, hot, and raging fire coursed through my blood as I walked closer to the dining table. My hands clutched the back of a chair carefully, with all the restraint I could muster.
“What did you do with him?” I asked slowly.
“Now, Frances, don’t get dramatic,” Carol sighed, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re 32, for heaven’s sake. Time to grow up. No more time or money spent on pet food, toys, or whatever.”
A kitten looking at a toy | Source: Pexels
I turned to John, who hadn’t moved from his position on the couch. “You let this happen and you LIED to me?!”
He shrugged again, still not looking up. “I think my mother’s right. It’s time to move on.”
“Move on from what?” My voice cracked. “Having something in my life that actually brings me joy? Unlike this marriage?”
That got his attention. John finally looked up, his face flushing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A man sitting on a couch with his mouth open looking offended | Source: Midjourney
“It means you’ve never supported anything that matters to me. Not once. You and your mother just decide what’s best for my life without ever asking what I want.”
Carol stood up, her chair scraping against the hardwood floor. “We decide what’s best because you clearly can’t make good decisions for yourself. Look at you now, throwing a tantrum over a cat when you should be focusing on starting a family.”
An older woman standing next to a table gesturing with her hands | Source: Midjourney
“You mean a family like this one?” I laughed, the sound harsh and foreign to my ears. “Where my husband can’t make a single decision without consulting his mommy first? And he decides to lie to me just to please you?”
At that moment, I wanted to tell her that my husband lied to her, too, about many things. But I held my tongue. I needed to recover Benji first.
“Now you’re just being hysterical,” Carol crossed her arms. “This is exactly why we had to take matters into our own hands.”
“Tell me where he is.” I stepped closer to Carol. “Now.”
A woman looking angry and mouthing something in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“Or what?” Carol smiled, but I caught the slight uncertainty in her eyes. “What are you going to do about it?”
Before I could answer, movement from the window caught my eye. My neighbor Lisa was in my yard, waving urgently. When I met her gaze, she pointed toward her house and mouthed something.
Somehow, only I noticed her.
“I’ll be right back,” I managed to say to Carol through clenched teeth, then added, “And when I return, I want to know exactly what you did with my cat.”
Stepping outside, I felt the cool spring air against my flushed face. Lisa hurried over, and we crossed the street to stand on her lawn. It was then that I noticed the phone in her hand.
Two women talking on the front lawn of a house | Source: Midjourney
“I saw your mother-in-law with Benji yesterday,” she said, breathless. “You might want to see this.”
She held out her phone, open to Facebook, and my blood ran cold at the post. There was Benji, his distinctive white fur and bright green collar unmistakable, cradled in the arms of Samantha.
That woman made my life hell in high school, but ironically, she reinvented herself years later as a lifestyle and fitness influencer who spread positivity. Unfortunately, thousands of people fell for her act, and she now lived fully off social media.
A woman recording herself while wearing sporty clothes and using a floor exercise mat | Source: Pexels
But this particular post was the only thing that mattered to me. The caption read: “Meet the newest addition to the family! Sometimes the perfect pet just falls into your lap. #blessed #newcatmom”
“That’s not all,” Lisa said, swiping to a video. “I was watering my plants yesterday morning when I saw your mother-in-law carrying Benji’s carrier to her car. Something felt off, so I just got in my truck and followed her. I decided to record just in case.”
An older woman hurrying along, carrying a cat in a basket | Source: Midjourney
The video, which was obviously shot from the inside of Lisa’s truck, showed Carol’s sedan pulling up to a modern townhouse.
Carol emerged with Benji’s carrier, walked up to the front door, and handed my pet over to Samantha. My mother-in-law had a big smile on her face as she got back into her sedan and drove off.
The video ended there.
“I’m so sorry, Frances,” Lisa said. “I should have tried to stop her.”
“No,” I said, squeezing her arm. “You did exactly the right thing. This is perfect.”
Two women talking on the front lawn of a house, one holding a phone, both looking worried | Source: Midjourney
“Want me to come with you to confront her?”
I shook my head. “No, just send me the video. I need to do this alone. But thank you. For everything.”
I crossed the street and went back inside. Carol had moved next to John on the couch, and they were in a deep, quiet conversation.
They looked up when I entered, and I felt the urge to do something unpleasant to my mother-in-law. This feeling only intensified when she began speaking.
A man and his mother sitting on a couch looking up with upset expressions | Source: Midjourney
“If you’re done with your little drama,” she said.
“Samantha?” I cut her off. “Really? That’s who you gave my cat to?”
Carol’s eyes widened slightly before she caught herself. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Save it. I have a video of you stealing my cat and giving it to her. What was the plan here? You just happened to choose my high school bully to give Benji to? Was that supposed to be some kind of twisted punishment?”
A girl in a classroom being pointed at by other classmates | Source: Pexels
John stood up. “Frances, calm down. Mom was just trying to help.”
“Help who?” I asked. “Help her maintain control over our marriage? Help Samantha get more social media followers with a cute new pet?”
“This is ridiculous,” Carol snapped. “John, tell her she’s being ridiculous.”
But I was already grabbing my car keys. “I’m going to get my cat. When I get back, I want you both gone.”
***
Samantha’s townhouse sat in an upscale development across town. Each knock on her door felt like a hammer to my racing heart.
Several townhouses | Source: Pexels
Two minutes later, the door swung open. My bully stood there in yoga pants and a crop top, and her surprised expression quickly morphed into a sneer.
“Well, if it isn’t ‘Frances, no Chances,’” she said, blocking the doorway. “You never had friends or boyfriends. Isn’t that why you had to marry that boring accountant?”
She wasn’t entirely wrong. I had been a loner for most of my life. My family was my only haven, which is why I took the death of my father so horribly. My mom and sister were still there, but it was Benji who ultimately saved me.
A woman looking sad and distraught in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
John had been my first everything.
Now I could understand the importance of dating, learning from mistakes, and experiencing different relationships.
If I had any experience, I probably wouldn’t have chosen him or taken all his mistakes and troubles in stride, thinking I was being a good wife.
“Where’s my cat?” I asked, ignoring her jabs and focusing on what mattered.
“You mean my new cat?” Samantha’s eyebrows rose. “He was a gift. Totally legal. No backsies.”
A woman in black exercise clothes smirking outside her townhouse door | Source: Midjourney
“A gift from someone who had no right to give him away. That’s theft.”
She laughed. “Please. Who’s going to believe you? It’s just a cat. Besides, he’s much better off here. Have you seen how many followers I have? People love me. He’ll be famous.”
“The police might be interested in this video of Carol stealing and giving away my property, especially because Benji is registered to me in his microchip.”
A woman standing on a lawn looking angry | Source: Midjourney
Samantha’s smile faltered slightly. “Please, you won’t call the police.”
“Oh, I’ll do more than just call the police,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Remember high school, Samantha? Remember how you made my life miserable? You laughed at me every day for just wanting to be left alone. And what about my homecoming dress? The one you and your bully friends ripped to shreds?”
A group of friends dressed for a school dance | Source: Unsplash
I pulled up an old photo I’d kept all these years. “I have proof of what you did with that dress. And guess what? I can make a video. A very detailed video. About all of it. And post it to every platform. I’m sure it’ll go viral. After all, so many people love you.”
The color drained from Samantha’s face. Her carefully crafted influencer image trembled before my eyes.
“Don’t,” she whispered, her bravado crumbling. “Please don’t. Just… take the cat.”
She disappeared inside and returned with Benji, who looked relieved to see me. “Please, just don’t post anything.”
A woman in exercise clothes outside a townhouse, holding a white cat | Source: Midjourney
I gathered Benji into my arms, feeling his purr. It gave me comfort, but also, the strength to get in my car and go home.
John and Carol were still there when I walked in with my cat secure in my arms.
Carol jumped up from the table. “How dare you—” she started.
“No,” I cut her off. “How dare you. Both of you. I thought I told you to get out of my house.”
“Frances, you’re being ridiculous,” John said.
A man sitting on a couch, looking up worriedly | Source: Midjourney
“I want a divorce.”
Carol gasped. “You ungrateful—”
“I have video evidence of you stealing my cat,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Leave now, or I’m calling the police.”
“You can’t do that!” Carol insisted. “And this is my son’s house, too!”
“It’s not,” I replied and stared at my husband. “Didn’t he tell you? He might be an accountant, but he has terrible credit. I had to sign the loan for this house on my own. It’s just my name on the deed.”
A woman holding keys to a house | Source: Unsplash
“What?” Carol turned to her son with wide eyes.
“I would also advise on not helping him so much,” I continued. “He actually spends all you give him playing poker with his buddies.”
“Frances!” John shouted, outraged, finally getting up from the couch.
“Leave now, or I might tell your mom that it’s not just poker,” I added. “There’s a little club next to the airport…”
The entrance to a nightclub | Source: Unsplash
“Stop!” he urged, one hand up. “We’re leaving.”
John pulled his mother out, while she bickered the entire time.
At last, the door clicked shut behind them, and the house fell quiet again.
The scent of Carol’s perfume would soon drift away forever, and the evidence of John’s uselessness as a husband would soon be gone, too.
Only Benji’s heavenly smell would remain, along with the promise of a better future.
“With that thought,” I muttered, pulling out my phone and calling my lawyer. After that, I was buying Lisa something special.
A woman standing in a living room, holding a cat and a phone, smiling | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My husband created a new schedule to ‘improve my role as a wife’ — I taught him a lesson in return
I was stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of blowing up, I played along.Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his newfound approach to marriage.
I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things pretty easily, whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video that promised to change his life in three easy steps.
But we were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loudly opinionated made him right, the type that talks right over you when you try to correct him.
He was also a perpetually single guy (who could have guessed?), who graciously dispensed relationship advice to all his married colleagues, Jake included. Jake should’ve known better, but my darling husband was positively smitten with Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t think much of it until Jake started making some noxious comments.
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d say. Or “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and reply with some sarcastic remark, but it was getting under my skin. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh when I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time job.
And then it happened. One night, he came home with The List.
He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice dripping with a condescending tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
He nodded, oblivious to the danger zone he was entering. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
I stared at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule… and he’d written “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” at the top in bold.
This guy had actually sat down and mapped out my entire week based on what Steve — a single guy with zero relationship experience — thought I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.
I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Then I’d hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
After that? A delightful lineup of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing. And that was all before I left for work. I was supposed to cook a meal from scratch every evening and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out at our place.
The whole thing was sexist and insulting on so many levels I didn’t even know where to start. I ended up staring at him, wondering if my husband had lost his mind.
“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, oblivious.
“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from —”
“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but he recovered quickly.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. Instead, I did something that surprised even me: I smiled.
“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky that you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him as I got up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I couldn’t help but smirk as I studied the ridiculous schedule again. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” then he was about to find out just how much structure our life could really handle.
I pulled out my laptop, opened up a fresh document, and titled it, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But there was a cost to perfection.
I began by listing all the things he had suggested for me, starting with the gym membership he was so keen on. It was laughable, really.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely containing my giggle.
Next came the food. If Jake wanted to eat like a king, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably need to chip in for a cooking class too. Those were pricey, but hey, perfection wasn’t free.
I leaned back in my chair, laughing to myself as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to come.
See, there was no way I could juggle all these expectations while holding down my job. If Jake wanted me to dedicate myself full-time to his absurd routine, then he’d have to compensate for the loss of my income.
I pulled up a calculator, estimating the value of my salary. Then, I added it to the list, complete with a little note: “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”
My stomach hurt from laughing at this point.
And just for good measure, I threw in a suggestion about him needing to expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t intrude on my newly organized, impossibly structured life.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare, sure, but a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.
I printed it out, set it neatly on the kitchen counter, and waited for Jake to come home. When he finally walked through the door that evening, he was in a good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. He spotted the paper almost immediately. “What’s this?”
I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to laugh as I watched him pick it up. “Oh, it’s just a little list I put together for you,” I said sweetly, “to help you become the best husband ever.”
Jake chuckled, thinking I was playing along with his little game. But as he scanned the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the slow realization that this wasn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he saw the total costs. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms.
“Well, you want me to wake up at 5 a.m., hit the gym, make gourmet breakfasts, clean the house, cook dinner, and host your friends. I figured we should budget for all of that, don’t you think?”
His face turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
He stared at the paper, dumbfounded.
The numbers, the absurdity of his own demands, it all hit him at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, looking at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought —”
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