**Diary Entry**
The relatives wasted no timethey put the box of kittens out on the street. Corgi followed them without hesitation and refused point-blank to go back inside the flat. For him, it was over now. Everything.
They didnt fuss, didnt hesitatejust set the box down and walked away. Corgi trailed after them silently, stubbornly refusing to step foot in that empty flat again. To him, that place wasnt home anymore.
The dog, lovingly named Corgi by his late owner, wasnt actually a corgi at all. From a distance, he might have passed for one of those stubby-legged, cheerful dogs, but up close, he was clearly a mongrelreddish fur, short legs, and a tail that never stopped wagging whenever someone crossed his path.
Corgi was impossibly sociable, endlessly curious, and kinder than most. In the local park where his old master used to take him, people jokingly called him “Gods punishment”and for good reason. The moment the lead came off, hed dive headfirst into making friendsdogs, humans, it didnt matter. Running, playing, sniffing out new companionsthat was his purpose.
Other dog owners, spotting him from afar, would often turn on their heels and leave. They knew if they lingered, theyd be stuck for ages. Their own dogs couldnt resist him either, and soon enough, the owners would be whistling, calling, even waving sticks to shoo him away.
But Corgi never took offencehe didnt know how.
His old master, thoughthat was another matter. Hed watch from the sidelines, heart sinking every time someone tried to chase his beloved dog off. Sometimes hed step in, but Corgi seemed to understandhed tug at the mans trouser leg, pull him away, then curl up in his lap, licking his hands, his face, until the world felt right again.
One afternoon, when the old man dozed off on a park bench, Corgias usualwandered off. When his master stirred awake, he found not just the dog beside him but a cat, tooginger, whiskered, staring at him intently.
“Made a new friend, have you?” he asked, bemused.
Corgi wagged his tail, licked the mans hand, then the cats, before settling down between them. The cat wasnt shy, eithershe took her spot and accepted the offerings: a bit of chicken, a couple of dog biscuits. Clearly, she wasnt spoiled.
When the old man got up to leave, Corgi stayed put, planted firmly beside his new companion.
“Whats this now?” the man huffed.
But Corgi made it plainno cat, no going home. The man sighed.
“Weve got enough on our plates as it is”
But there was no arguing. He exhaled.
“Alright, you whiskered rascalif hes picked you, youre coming with us. Might liven the place up a bit.”
Turned out, the “cat” was actually a queen. A few months later, three fluffy kittens appeared in the flat. Corgi was overjoyedhe looked after them, played with them, curled up with them while Whiskers (as the old man had named her) perched on the windowsill, watching the street.
Life settled into a rhythm. The old man bought everything the new family needed, happily reading up on cats and dogs online. The neighbours laughed at first, then softenedevery morning, theyd see him walking his colourful little troupe: Corgi, Whiskers, and the three kittens.
The park was replaced by the gardencloser, safer. Soon, neighbours stopped to chat, some even sitting with him. Corgi, Whiskers, and the kittens were happy.
And then, the unthinkable.
One sunny weekend, as the garden buzzed with life, Corgi let out a sharp whine. Everyone rushed over.
The old man sat on the bench, slightly slumped. A faint smile touched his lips as he looked at his little friendsbut his eyes were empty.
For days, the neighbours fed the animals. Then the distant relatives arrived. They were the ones who carried the box of kittens and Whiskers out to the street. Corgi followed. The home where his master no longer lived meant nothing to him now.
The neighbours watched, pitying, but none could take in all five. So there they stayedby the bench, Corgi, Whiskers, and the three kittens.
Autumn rains came, cold and unrelenting. Whiskers draped herself over the kittens. Corgi, without hesitation, covered them all, shielding them from the chill.
The first to crack was the grumpy old woman from the first floor. She stormed out in her dressing gown, cursing the world, scooped up the kittens, clutched Whiskers to her chest, and snapped at Corgi:
“Right, homenow!”
He trotted after her, tail wagging.
Now the whole gang walked with heror her grandchildren did, when they werent “dumped” on her. Andstrangest of allshe became the heart of the house. Neighbours started bringing cakes, sausages, all sorts of treatsmostly for the little ones. Shed grumble, but more and more, shed secretly wipe her eyes.
One day, the caretaker dropped by. Sat, had tea, chatted. As he got up to leave, she called out:
“Oi! You left this 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, please.”
She froze. Then, surprising even herself, she kissed his cheek. He left, forgetting the lift, muttering under his breath as he climbed the stairs.
“Well?” his wife asked at home. “Did she take it?”
“Course she did,” he smiled. “Told her it was from everyone.”
“Good,” she nodded. “Weve got enough. And her, with three grandkids alone Tell you whattake her money every month. Ill sort it through my mate at social services, make it look like aid.”
The old woman, still standing outside, heard everything. She pressed a hand to her mouth and wept silently. Then she went inside, leaned against the doorframe, and said to Corgi:
“See, love Sometimes a lie can be a blessing.”
Corgi nuzzled her. Whiskers rubbed against her hand. She stroked them, then added softly:
“Thank you. Not for me. For the grandchildren.”
And that was that. Or perhaps not. She raised all three grandchildren. Married off two of them. Corgi and Whiskers live with one now. Still loved.
Thats the story. The rest? Best leave it be. No need to spoil the mood.
