“You care more about that cat than your own nephew!” Mum yelled.
Ever since I was little, I, Emily, dreamed of having my own cat. Finally, at 20, I bought a kitten from a reputable breeder in a small town near Manchester. I named him Whiskers, and he became my best mate. I devoted all my free time to him—playing, cuddling, looking after him. He wasn’t just a pet; he was part of my soul, my comfort on the hardest days. My parents never outright objected, but they never understood why he meant so much to me. “You should’ve had a baby instead of fussing over a cat!” Mum, Margaret, would snap. Her words stung, but I bit my tongue, not wanting a row.
My older sister, Victoria, had a son named Oliver, and suddenly, I was roped into babysitting all the time. Honestly? I never felt that warmth for him. I helped out—cooked, cleaned, did the laundry—but looking after him just drained me. Coming home exhausted, I’d rush to Whiskers. His purring, his little head nudges, they filled me up in a way nothing else could. One day, Mum lost it. “What, is that animal more important than your sister’s own child?!”
I didn’t lie. “Yeah, he is.” Whiskers was my light. Oliver, bless him, was just someone else’s kid to me. Mum flew into a rage. “How can you say that? He’s family!” Victoria just laughed, calling me mad. But I held my ground. Why should I force love I didn’t feel? Their reaction only dug my heels in deeper.
Mum must’ve decided to punish me. One night, I stayed over at a friend’s, and when I came back the next morning, Whiskers was gone. “He got spooked,” Mum said coolly. “Front door was open—must’ve bolted.” My heart shattered. I sobbed, called shelters, put up posters, but he was gone. Losing him wrecked me. He was my comfort, my quiet joy. Soon after, I moved in with my fiancé, James, in Liverpool. We got another kitten, but the ache never faded.
A few months later, I visited my parents. My little brother, Thomas, couldn’t keep it in any longer—he told me the truth. While I was away, Mum and Victoria had “taught me a lesson.” They’d kicked Whiskers out because I dared to say he mattered more than Oliver. Thomas had gone along with it at first but realised they’d gone too far. Hearing that, my whole body went cold. My own mother and sister had betrayed me, taken the one thing I loved most, just to prove a point. To them, he was just a cat. To me, he was everything.
How could they not see it? Whiskers was there for me when no one else was. His warmth kept me going. Oliver? I helped because I had to, not because I wanted to. Victoria clearly didn’t care about me—not if she’d agree to something so cruel. They wanted to “fix” me, force me to love Oliver like I loved Whiskers. And when I didn’t obey, they punished me by taking him away. It wasn’t just betrayal—it was like they’d ripped out a piece of me.
I don’t know what happened to Whiskers. I have to believe someone kind took him in. But that loss? It’ll stay with me forever. Mum and Victoria broke my trust. Their little stunt showed how little they respect me, how little my feelings matter. I won’t be part of their world anymore—where love’s a duty, not a choice. Whiskers was mine. My happiness. And no one had the right to take him from me. Now, it’s just me, James, and our new kitten. And I swear—no one’s ever going to make me feel guilty for loving what I love again.
