The relatives wasted no timethey simply set the box of kittens out on the street. Toby, the dog, followed silently and refused point-blank to return to the empty flat. To him, that place no longer meant a thing.
The little dog, lovingly called Toby by his elderly master, wasnt actually a corgi at all. From a distance, he might have passed for one of those comical, short-legged creatures, but up close, he was a proper mongrelred fur, stumpy legs, and a tail that never stopped wagging whenever he met someone new.
Toby was sociable to a fault, endlessly curious, and kinder than most. In the nearby park where his master walked him, the locals called him “a right menace”and not without reason. The moment the lead came off, hed dart off to greet every soul in sight, dogs and people alike. Running, playing, making friendsthat was his purpose.
Other dog owners often turned on their heels the second they spotted him, knowing theyd be stuck there for ages otherwise. Their own dogs couldnt resist Tobys cheerful charm, refusing to budge. So the owners resorted to calling, coaxing, even waving sticks to shoo him away.
But Toby never took offencehe didnt know the meaning of it.
His master, however, often grew quiet, watching from a distance as people tried to chase his beloved pet away. Sometimes hed step in, but Toby always seemed to understandnipping at his trouser leg, pulling him aside, then curling into his lap, licking his hands and face until the world felt right again.
One afternoon, while the old man dozed on a park bench, Toby wandered off as usual. When the man woke, he found not just his dog beside him but a cat as wella ginger tom with whiskers twitching, staring intently.
“Found yourself a mate, have you?” he asked, surprised.
Toby wagged his tail, licked his masters hand, then the cats too, before settling between them. The cat wasnt dafthe took his spot and ate the scraps offered: a bit of chicken and a few dog biscuits. Clearly, he wasnt one for pampering.
When the old man stood to leave, Toby planted himself firmly beside his new friend.
“Whats this now?” the man grumbled.
But Toby made it plainwithout the cat, he wasnt going anywhere. The old man sighed.
“Havent we got enough on our plates?”
In the end, he gave in. “Alright, you whiskered rogueif hes chosen you, come on then. Might liven the place up.”
Later, they discovered the “tom” was a she. A few months on, three tiny kittens appeared in the flat. Toby was over the moon. He watched over them, played with them, even napped curled around them while Pippaas the old man had named the catkept watch from the windowsill.
Life settled into a pleasant rhythm. The old man bought all the things his new family needed and spent evenings reading up on cats and dogs. The neighbours chuckled at first, then softenedevery morning, theyd see him walking his odd little troupe: Toby, Pippa, and the three kittens.
The park gave way to the gardencloser and safer. Soon, neighbours stopped to chat, some even sitting awhile. Toby, Pippa, and the kittens were content.
Then, one sunny weekend, as the garden buzzed with life, Toby let out a sharp whine. Everyone rushed over.
The old man sat on the bench, leaning slightly, a faint smile on his face. His eyes rested on his little friends, but they no longer saw.
For days, the neighbours fed the animals. Then distant relatives arrivedthe ones who put the box of kittens and Pippa out on the street. Toby followed them. The home that no longer held his master meant nothing now.
The neighbours watched sadly, but none could take in all five. So they stayed there, by the benchToby, Pippa, and the three kittens.
Autumn rains came, cold and unkind. Pippa shielded the little ones with her body, and Toby stretched over them without hesitation, keeping them warm.
The first to break was the cantankerous old woman from the first floor. She stormed out into the rain, still in her housecoat, scolding the world at large. She scooped up the kittens, clutched Pippa close, and snapped at Toby:
“Get inside, now!”
The dog trotted obediently after her, tail wagging.
Now the whole lot walked with heror her grandchildren did, the ones her own children had “left in her care.” And to everyones surprise, the old woman became the heart of the house. Neighbours started bringing cakes, sausage rolls, all sortsespecially for the little ones. Shed grumble, but more and more often, shed dab at her eyes when no one was looking.
One day, the caretaker paid her a visit. They had tea, chatted. As he stood to leave, she called after him:
“Oi! You left your envelope! Its full of money!”
He paused. “Didnt forget a thing. Thats for you. From the whole building. However much folks could spare. Dont refuse it.”
The old woman froze. Then, to her own shock, she kissed his cheek. The caretaker walked off, forgetting the lift, muttering to himself as he climbed the stairs.
“Well?” his wife asked at home. “Did she take it?”
“Course,” he smiled. “Told her it was from everyone.”
“Good,” she nodded. “Weve got enough. Her, with three grandkids to raise alone Tell you whattake her some every month. And Ill sort it with my mate at social services to make it look like aid.”
The old woman, still standing outside, heard every word. She covered her mouth and wept silently. Then she went inside, leaned against the doorframe, and said to Toby:
“You see, love Sometimes a lie can be a blessing.”
Toby pressed close. Pippa rubbed against her hand. The old woman stroked them and added softly:
“Thank you. Not for me. For the little ones.”
And that was that. Or perhaps not quite. The old woman raised all three grandchildren. Saw two of them wed. Toby and Pippa live with one of them now, still loved.
Thats the story. The rest best leave it be. No need to spoil the mood.