Emma turned the key and froze: three fluffy strangers were perched on the doorstep.
It was that relentless, dreary autumn drizzle again. Emma trudged across the garden, clutching her umbrella as if it might shield her not just from the cold drops but from the whole indifferent world beyond. The lock clicked, and a brief, plaintive sound slipped from behind her:
Meow.
She halted and swiveled her head. In the doorway, huddled together like soggy peas, sat three tiny, shivering bundles. One ginger, one snowwhite and one midnight blackas if someone had deliberately chosen the most contrasting colours just to tug at the heartstrings.
Oh dear she whispered, almost to herself.
The kittens stared up at her. No pleading, no begging, just a look that somehow pinched her chest.
What are you doing in my hallway? Emma murmured, crouching down. Off you go, little ones, off you go.
The ginger stretched a tentative paw and brushed her fingertips. She flinched, sprang to her feet, opened the door and stepped inside, then turned back. The kittens were still there, unmoving.
I’m sorry, she whispered, closing the door behind her.
That night sleep eluded her. Emma lay awake listening to the wind rattling the branches outside, halfexpecting another faint meow from beneath her door. Perhaps it was the wind, perhaps her conscience.
By morning the rain had eased. She peeked out the window the doorstep was empty.
Right, she said aloud, as if justifying herself. They’ll find someone better.
But a sharp, needlelike pang jabbed her chest, as if shed just misplaced something precious.
Emma! a familiar voice called from the street.
In the front garden, her neighbour Violet stood, leash in hand, her mutt Daisy wagging.
Come out, lets have a chat!
Emma pulled a scarf tighter and descended the steps.
So, Violet began, I heard there were kittens at your door yesterday. What happened to them?
They left, Emma shrugged. They came, they went.
Oh, you silly thing, Violet sighed. Cats dont just turn up for a stroll. If they pick a home, theyre bringing a bit of luck. And you shooed them away?
I didnt shoo them, Emma replied softly. I just didnt take them in.
Thats a shame, Emma. Its a bit of a sin to turn away those who come to you.
The words lodged in Emmas heart like a splinter. She lingered a moment longer, then, with sudden resolve, turned on her heel.
Ill go looking for them.
Thats the spirit! Violet called after her.
Clutching her old umbrella, wet cobblestones squelching beneath her boots, Emma combed the entire back garden, peered behind bins, under the stairs, even into the basement no sign of the little fur balls. Only silence and the occasional drip from the gutter.
The next day she rose at dawn, radio off, dressed in a dry coat and set off again. She scoured her own plot, then the neighbours, checking every nook.
Psspss, she whispered, feeling foolish, where are you, little ones?
Only a light, irritating drizzle answered.
The third day was the hardest. Emma wandered until dark, her feet sore, her clothes drenched, but she couldnt stop. At the entrance block she met Violet again.
Emma, youre soaked through! Youll catch a cold!
I cant, Val, Emma sighed wearily. They came to me, and I
I get it, Violet nodded. Well search together tomorrow.
On the fourth morning, just as Emma was about to head out, a faint, suppressed meow drifted up from somewhere low. She crouched and peered under a warmwater pipe. There, in a corner, two kittens the ginger and the white clung to each other, thin, dripping, trembling. The white one could barely breathe.
My darlings, Emma cooed, reaching out gently. The ginger let itself be picked up at once; the white one was too weak to move.
She cradled them under her coat, feeling tiny hearts thump against her palm, and carried them inside. In the kitchen she spread an old towel and tucked the pair in. The ginger perked up immediately, looking around, while the white one lay still.
Dont you dare give up, she whispered, rubbing his paws. Hear that? No more!
She poured warm milk into a shallow dish. The ginger nosed it greedily; the white one needed a tiny dropper, a drip at a time. After about an hour he let out a soft meow.
Well done, Emma smiled, the first genuine grin in days.
But where was the third the black kitten?
Leaving the two snuggled in their blanket, Emma set out again, searching until evening. At last a plaintive squeak came from behind an old shed. In a narrow crack between the boards a tiny black kitten was stuck.
How on earth did you squeeze in there, you little rascal? she muttered, extracting him. She had to fetch a hammer and pry the board open.
The black one was the frailest of the lot. Emma bundled him home, laying him next to the others on a threadbare quilt by the radiator. The ginger was already darting around the kitchen, the white one breathing evenly, and the black one
Hang in there, little one, she sang, offering milk. Dont give up.
At midnight he finally managed a few sips on his own.
The first weeks were a rollercoaster: diarrhoea, fevers, one kitten worse off, then another. Emma spent sleepless nights warming, feeding, and ferrying them to the vet.
Maybe you could rehome them? Violet suggested one afternoon.
No, Emma answered firmly. Theyre mine now.
Mine was a word she hadnt said in ages. She christened the ginger Ginger mischievous, evernosy, poking his nose into everything. The white one became Snowball dignified, a quiet observer who loved perching on the windowsill and watching the world. The black one she named Shadow quiet, cautious, but the one who clung to her most fiercely; the moment Emma sat down, hed curl onto her lap.
The house soon filled with the chorus of purrs, pattering paws, and clinking bowls. The familiar smells of milk, shampoo, and warm toast returned. Life, in all its messy glory, was back.
Emma now rose earlier than usual to tend to her brood: fresh water, food, a clean litter tray. Her day had a tidy rhythm breakfast, play, lunch, indoor walks, evening cuddles, and sleep. And, oddly enough, she loved it. For the first time in a long while, getting up in the morning felt like a choice, not a chore.
Two months later the kittens were robust, fullgrown, and unmistakably naughty. Ginger, now a fearless orange blur, constantly plotted mischief pulling curtains, toppling flower pots, leaping into wardrobes and turning them into chaos zones.
What have you gotten yourself into now, you scamp? Emma scolded, halflaughing. He simply nudged her leg, purring as if to say, Its all in good fun, Mum!
Snowball was the opposite regal, composed, as if hed been born to philosophise. He claimed the kitchen windowsill as his throne, watching the street for hours, occasionally meowing as if conversing with passing sparrows or delivering sage advice to the other cats.
Shadow became Emmas everpresent shade. Wherever she went bathroom, kitchen, bedroom he was a step behind, a soft black silhouette. When she tried to lie down, hed plop onto her pillow, curling into a perfect ball.
Youre really stuck to me, arent you? Emma giggled, stroking his ear.
One morning something felt off. She woke to find Snowball perched on his favourite spot, Ginger sprinting down the hallway, but Shadow was nowhere to be seen.
Shadow! she called, voice tinged with panic. Where are you, little chap?
No answer. Emma combed every room under the sofa, inside the wardrobe, even the washing machine. Nothing. Her heart thudded. Had he slipped down the stairs? The front door was shut, the kitchen window sealed. She rushed outside, then into the communal garden, scouring the basement, the attic, the hedges by the fence.
Shadow! Shadow! she cried, ignoring the curious glances of neighbours.
From a firstfloor window, Violet peeked out.
Emma, whats the matter?
Shadows vanished! Emma said, almost sobbing. I have no idea where hes gone!
Hold on, Ill come down well look together!
They swept the whole courtyard, peeking into every nook. Emma was on the verge of tears when a faint meow drifted from above. She froze, ears straining. It was coming from the top shelf of a wardrobe, behind a stack of boxes.
Shadow! she breathed, eyes widening with relief. How on earth did you get up there, you little rascal?
The black kitten let out a plaintive meow, too frightened to jump down. Emma fetched a stool, clambered up, and gently rescued the quivering Shadow. Cradling him to her chest, she whispered:
You gave me a proper fright, you silly thing
Shadow purred, nudging his head against her cheek in apology.
In that instant Emma realised she wasnt just afraid of losing a kitten; she was terrified of being alone again. These three tiny furballs had become her family, her purpose, the beat of her heart. Ginger mewed, Snowball gave a approving rumble, and Shadow nestled into her neck.
That evening Emma felt truly needed for the first time in years.
Thank you, she murmured, arranging the water bowls. Thank you for coming to me.
From then on, Ginger greeted her at the door every time she returned from the corner shop, leaping and rubbing against her legs. Snowball kept watch from his perch, a dignified sentinel. And Shadow, everfaithful, stayed close, his amber eyes full of gentle devotion.
When Emma was down, he would curl beside her, warming her with his tiny body. When she was happy, his purrs rose louder, as if sharing the joy.
The house breathed again. Emma no longer rose because she had to but because she wanted to to feed her boys, to play, to chat. Yes, she talked to the cats, and she wasnt embarrassed about it. After all, they answered in their own way: a soft purr, a flick of a tail, a delicate meow.
A year later Emma stood at the window, watching the garden where shed once sheltered three drenched kittens.
Snowball, look, its raining again, she said to the white cat perched on the sill.
Snowball meowed back, his green eyes never leaving the drops. Hed grown into a sleek, princely cat with a scholars air. From the hallway came a thump Ginger charging in with a toy mouse clenched in his jaws, still the same mischievous whirlwind, now a fluffy orange tornado.
Turned the house upside down again? Emma laughed.
And at her feet, as always, Shadow purred, his midnight coat still as dark as coal, his eyes reflecting every memory shed gathered. He never strayed more than a foot from her.
My dears, Emma whispered, leaning over him.
The garden gate swung open; Violet appeared, Daisy trotting beside her.
Emma! she called. Come out!
Emma smiled, eyeing her quartet of fur.
Val, you were right, she said softly. They saved me.
She glanced upward and added, barely above a whisper:
Thank you, dear Universe perhaps you sent them my way.
Outside, rain pattered gently on the windowsill, but inside the house was warm and peaceful. Emma closed her eyes, listening to the comforting chorus of purrsthe very sound that had marked the beginning of her new life.
