**The Stag Night**
When Richard divorced his wife, he swore off marriage for good. Seven years together had shown him nothing but quarrels, shouting, and endless rows.
«Rich, youre being too harsh,» his mate Stephen insisted. «A wifes good for a manfed, looked after, loved.» He grinned like a Cheshire cat, listing the perks.
«Dunno, Steve. I cooked half the time, hooveredthat was my job. And *loved*? My bloody ex, Emma, loved me so much I barely knew where to hide.»
Emma had been impossible to please. Gifts? «Couldve spent more.» Holidays? Shed watch him like a hawk, accusing him of eyeing up other women, humiliating him in front of mates. The final straw came at her friends birthday do when she slapped him for an extra whisky. He walked out then and there, divorce papers soon after.
The split was brutalEmma fought tooth and nail. In the end, he handed her the flat and car, if only for their daughters sake. He moved on, rebuilt.
Years passed. Richard bought a new flat, a car, paid off the mortgagehis salary helped. He dated, some women even proposed marriage. But he stood firm.
«Not doing that again.»
Then, at thirty-eight, he met Sophie. Randomly, in a café. Hed gone with mates to celebrate Stephens promotion. Two women sat nearbyone caught his eye. Dark blue, piercing gaze, almost glowing in the dim light.
«Christ, those eyes could drown a man,» he thought.
Stephen nudged him. «Got a thing for the brunette, eh?»
«Might do,» Richard admitted, then marched over.
«Evening. Mind if I join you? Richard.»
«Sophie,» she smiled. Her friend, Lucy, nodded.
They talked. She didnt drink, so he skipped the wine. Later, he drove her homesober. Soon, they were inseparable. Same wavelength, easy company. Sophie had been briefly married»Just didnt work.» He didnt pry; she didnt ask about his past.
At thirty-five, no kids, she worked as a financial analyst but painted for funbrilliantly. She dragged Richard to galleries. Oddly, he loved it.
Mates ribbed him, but he adored her. Theyd go sketching in the countryside. One night, stroking his cat, Whiskers, it hit him.
«Think Ill propose, mate. Shes perfect.»
Whiskers, a stray hed rescued years ago, blinked lazily.
«Well live togetheryoull like her. She spoils you rotten.»
Sophie called Whiskers «too clever to bother talking.»
The proposal came. She said yes. A quiet registry office do, but family and mates revolted.
«*What*, no wedding? Tight bastards!»
Caving, they planned a proper one. Then came the stag night demands.
«*No* stag? Bollocks to that!»
Richard groaned. «Lads, were nearly forty!»
«Ages got nowt to do with it!» Stephen bellowed. «Last night of freedom*tradition*!»
Relenting, Richard hosted at his placeno prying eyes. Wednesday night, wedding Friday.
He stocked up on beer, whisky, ordered sushi, prawns, steak. Whiskers eyed the spread greedily.
«Not for you, mate.»
The lads arrived, raucous. But then
«Not drinking,» Andrew muttered. «Wifes threat: one more boozy night, divorce.»
Stephen sighed. «Cant either. Picking the mother-in-law up at bloody four AM.»
Richard laughed. «You *organised* this!»
They ate, drank lightly, talked cars, work, kids. By ten, everyone left.
«Thats it?» Richard stared at the half-finished prawns. Whiskers leapt up, helping himself.
«Go on, then.»
Alone, Richard dozed off. Woke to Whiskers sprawled on the table, smug.
«Cheeky sod.»
The wedding was loud, joyous. Married life? Perfect. No regrets. Second times the charm.
**Lesson:** Sometimes the right person turns everything upside downeven a stubborn heart. And cats *always* win.
