June 20, 2025
Recently, after a long and tiring day at work, my husband and I settled in after enjoying a delicious meal. As we sat together, I initiated a conversation—something that’s more of a ritual for me but often feels like a chore for him. While I love unwinding through conversation, he prefers to relax in silence with his gadgets or the television.
That evening, our talk unexpectedly turned into a deep discussion. We found ourselves exploring a heavy question: In a moment of danger or emergency, who would be the one to never leave the other behind?
Well, you can probably guess how the rest of the conversation unfolded. I launched into a passionate argument, reminding him of all the times I had cared for him when he was sick—how I had nursed him, fed him, bathed him, and looked after him with unwavering patience. I even brought up how I always saved the last piece of cake or the best cut of chicken just for him. I must have gone on for a solid ten minutes, laying out my case with full conviction.
And then, he simply smiled—quietly, knowingly—and brought up an incident from the early days of our marriage. A moment I had nearly forgotten, but one that instantly shifted the entire course of my argument.
A few months after our wedding, as part of our usual vacation routine, we visited Mangalore. These trips usually include stopping by several homes—on both my husband’s side of the family and mine. After making a few such visits, we decided to stay at my paternal ancestral home.
After a hearty dinner filled with conversations and laughter, we finally retired for the night. Since we were newly married, we were given my cousin’s bedroom — she graciously offered it to us for the night, even though we insisted on sleeping in the hall where my parents and other cousins were staying. Despite our protests, she wholeheartedly gave up her room and chose to sleep outside in the large hall, making sure we were comfortable and felt at home.
After a few hours of sleep, I woke up and turned over. As I did, I felt something soft and mushy touching my feet. At first, I assumed it was just the blanket and tried to go back to sleep. But then I suddenly remembered—we were covered with a bedsheet, not a blanket.
Curious and a little uneasy, I slid down a bit to feel it more clearly. It felt soft and mushy. I was surprised and puzzled, trying to figure out what it could be. It was too dark to see anything, and I didn’t have the courage to switch on the light. So, I decided to wake up my snoring husband.
I gently nudged him and whispered, “There’s something in the bed.” Thinking I was talking in my sleep, he mumbled, “Just go back to sleep.” But I insisted and asked him to slide down a little and stretch his legs to feel it too.
Still half-asleep, he did as I said. Then he muttered, “Maybe someone left some clothes or food here,” and promptly turned over and went back to sleep, leaving me wide awake and more confused than ever.
As I lay wide awake, wondering what it could be, I slid my leg down again to feel it more clearly—and that’s when I sensed it was slightly moving. In that moment, it struck me: it could be a snake. Terrified, I screamed, leapt out of bed, and ran out of the room in the dark, waking my husband in a frenzy.
I rushed to where my dad was sleeping and, crawling next to him, woke him up to tell him there was something in the bed. Still half-asleep, he mumbled for me to sleep beside him and turned over without a second thought.
Meanwhile, my husband—now fully awake and realizing the seriousness of the situation—got up and began fumbling around for a light. Since he was new to the place, he didn’t know where the switches were and softly asked me to come help him. I bluntly refused and insisted he come sleep with me in the hall instead.
By then, our so-called "soft whispers" had woken a few people in the hall. Just as things were escalating, my husband finally managed to turn on the light—and there it was, the source of all the panic: a fluffy, cute, fat cat curled up comfortably in our bed.
He looked at me with sarcastic anger and said, “It was a cat.”
Feeling slightly relieved, I walked into the room. By then, my cousin had woken up and so had my dad. My husband was tugging at the bedsheet, but nothing seemed to disturb the fat cat. After a couple of attempts, the cat finally got up and casually strolled out of the room—as if nothing had happened.
My cousin, having witnessed the entire scene, began to giggle and said, “That cat crawls into bed every night through the open window and snuggles with me.”
Hearing that made me freak out a little, but I didn’t say a word. I just stared at her, feeling a mix of shock and guilt. Ashamed for abandoning my husband, I quietly lay down next to him.
Recalling this event made us both laugh. Then my husband began questioning who would be more loyal. Sensing a snake and impending danger, I did not think twice about abandoning my husband alone and fled to safety. When my husband questioned my integrity, that’s when I kept quiet, knowing I had no right to argue. I quietly got up and returned to bed, and that’s when my husband had the last laugh, looking back at his TV, feeling glorious that after decades he had won an argument.
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