When He Got Home From Work, The Cat Was Gone: How Quiet Patrick Chose His Unlikely Cat Over a Demanding Girlfriend and Found True Loyalty

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 3 minViews 1

When he came home from work, the cat was gone.

James is a reserved young man without any bad habits. On his 25th birthday, his parents gifted him a flat. Well, it wasnt exactly a giftthey helped him gather enough money for the first deposit on a mortgage. So James set out to live on his own. He works as a software developer and prefers a quiet life, rarely socialising.

To keep the loneliness at bay, James decides to adopt a kitten. The kitten has problems with his front paws. The previous owners, who had his mum, wanted to put him down, but James pitied the little thing and brought him home. He named him Handsome. Life together suits them; James looks forward to coming home to Handsome, who always greets him at the doormat.

After a while, James starts seeing a colleague from work, Sophie. Shes clever and quickly wins James over, and within the month, she moves in with him. Straight away, she takes a dislike to Handsome and asks James to give the cat away. He refuses, explaining that Handsome means a lot to him.

Sophie doesnt give up, persistently pressing James to get rid of Handsome. James finally tells her, The cat stays here. Sophie complains that the cats appearance embarrasses them because guests always seem repulsed by his paws. Torn between Sophie and Handsome, James cant help but care deeply for both.

Incidentally, his parents dont approve of the match. They find Sophie rude and disrespectful. They urge James not to rush things and to think carefully about his future with her.

When Sophies parents come round for dinner, James finally realises he doesnt want a life with her. Sophies father bursts out laughing as soon as he sees Handsome, calling him a freak. James sticks up for his cat, but all evening, Sophie and her father ridicule Handsomes looks and dream up all sorts of ways to get rid of him. Sophies mother giggles along, joining in on the taunts.

The next day, James returns from work and Handsome isnt there. When James asks Sophie where the cat is, she tells him she took him to a veterinary clinic and left him behind.

James rushes out to look for Handsome. He searches for five hours and finally finds him. Handsome, happy to see his owner, purrs quietly in Jamess arms.

When James returns home, he tells Sophie to pack up and move out. He doesnt want to see her ever again. She disgusts him now.

In the morning, Sophie gathers her things and leaves. Shes hurt and silent. She never expected the cat to matter more than she did. Now Handsome and James continue living together, and every day, Handsome eagerly greets James at the door when he returns from work.

She Stole My Father — Mum, I’ve moved in! Can you believe it? Finally! Oxana pinched her phone to her ear with her shoulder, wrestling with a stubborn lock. The key turned reluctantly, as if testing its new mistress. — Darling, thank goodness! And the flat, is it all right? — her mother’s voice trembled with excitement and concern. — Perfect! Bright, spacious. Balcony facing east, just like I wanted. Is Dad there? — Here I am, here! — Victor’s deep voice came from the speaker. — Mum put it on speaker. Well, has the fledgling left the nest? — Dad, I’m twenty-five, not a fledgling. — You’ll always be a fledgling to me. Have you checked the locks? Windows draft-free? The radiators… — Vicky, let the child settle! — interrupted her mother. — Oxana, be careful there. Newly-built, you never know about neighbours. Oxana laughed, finally conquering the lock and pushing open the door. — Mum, this isn’t a seventies council flat. Decent building, decent people. It’ll be fine. The following weeks became a blur — between DIY shops, furniture showrooms, and her new flat. Oxana fell asleep with wallpaper catalogues under her pillow, woke up thinking about the right shade of grout for her bathroom tiles. On Saturday, she stood in her lounge, staring at swatches for curtains, when her phone buzzed again. — How’s it all coming along? — her father asked. — Slowly but surely. Today it’s curtains. Torn between “ivory” and “warm milk.” What do you think? — I think they’re the same colour, but the marketers are different. — Dad, you don’t understand the subtlety of shades! — I do understand electrics. Sockets done properly? The renovations ate up time, money, and nerves, but every new touch turned bare walls into a real home. Oxana picked out creamy beige wallpaper, found a good floor-layer, invented a way to make her tiny kitchen look more spacious. When the last contractor took away the rubbish, Oxana sank to the spotless floor amidst gleaming surfaces. Soft light streamed through new curtains, fresh paint hung in the air. Her very first home… She met her neighbour three days after moving in completely. Oxana fiddled with her keys at the door when the lock opposite clicked. — Oh, the new girl! — A woman in her thirties poked her head out. Cropped hair, bold lipstick, curious eyes. — I’m Alison. I live right opposite — guess that makes us neighbours. — Oxana. Lovely to meet you. — If you ever need sugar, salt, or a chat, just pop in. Weird being alone at first in a new build, I remember. Alison proved to be good company. They drank tea in Oxana’s kitchen, swapped stories about the building management and layout details. Alison shared her wisdom: the best Wi-Fi, trusty plumber, and the shop with the freshest groceries. — Tell you what, I have a recipe for apple sponge — out of this world! — Alison flicked through her phone. — I’ll send it over. Done in half an hour, tastes like you’ve slaved all day. — Yes please! Haven’t tried my oven yet. Weeks rolled on, and Oxana was glad for such an open neighbour. They bumped into each other on the stairs, popped in for coffee, exchanged books. On Saturday, Victor came to help with a shelf. No matter how she tried, it wouldn’t stay up. — Wrong wall plugs, — he diagnosed, inspecting the fittings. — These are for plasterboard. Yours’s concrete. All right, I’ve proper ones in the van. Within an hour, the shelf hung firm. Victor gathered his tools, scrutinised his handiwork, satisfied. — There you go. That’ll last twenty years. — You’re the best, Dad! — Oxana hugged him. They headed down, chatting about nothing in particular. Victor asked about work, Oxana griped about her new boss who mixed up deadlines and lost papers. At the entrance, Alison approached with supermarket bags. — Oh, hi! — Oxana waved. — Meet my dad, Victor. Dad, this is Alison, my neighbour I told you about. — Lovely to meet you, — Victor greeted with his trademark friendly smile. Alison froze briefly, eyes flitting between them. Her smile looked forced, glued on. — Likewise, — she muttered, hurrying inside. Everything changed after that. Next morning, Oxana met Alison on the landing and greeted her — only to receive a frosty nod. Two days later, she invited her for tea. Alison fobbed her off with a hasty excuse. Then, the complaints began… The first time, a community officer knocked at nine in the evening. — Received a noise complaint, — the elderly policeman looked sheepish. — Loud music, banging noises. — Music? — Oxana was baffled. — I was reading a book. — Well, neighbours are complaining… The letters snowballed — management got notes about “unbearable stomping,” “constant racket,” and “late-night music.” The police visit became routine, every time the officer apologetic and helpless. Oxana realised where it was coming from. What she didn’t know was — why. Every morning was a lottery — today it might be eggshell smeared on the door, coffee grounds between the frame and panel, a bag of potato peelings placed beneath her mat. Oxana got up half an hour earlier to clean the mess before work. Her hands stung from cleaning supplies, throat tight with stress. — I can’t go on like this, — she muttered one night, searching online for video door viewers. Installation took twenty minutes. The tiny camera disguised as a peephole recorded everything on the landing. Oxana connected it to her phone and waited. She didn’t wait long. At 3 a.m., the screen lit with motion alert. Oxana, incredulous, watched Alison — in a dressing gown and slippers — methodically smearing something dark over her door. Deliberate, precise, like a familiar chore. The next night, Oxana waited up. At half two, there were noises outside. She flung open the door. Alison froze, holding a bag that sloshed with something unpleasant. — What did I do to you? — Oxana’s voice caught, pitiful even to herself. — Why are you doing this? Alison slowly set the bag down. Her features twisted, bitterness distorting her attractive face. — You? Nothing. But your precious father… — What about my dad? — The fact that he’s my father too! — Alison almost shouted, uncaring who heard. — Only, he raised you, spoiled you, loved you, while he left me when I was three! Never sent a penny, never called once! Mum and I scraped by while he built his happy family with your mother! So you, you basically stole my father! Oxana backed up, hitting the doorframe. — You’re lying… — Lying? Ask him! Ask if he remembers Marina Solloway and little Alison, the daughter he tossed out like rubbish! Oxana slammed the door and slid to the floor, one thought thundering: it’s not true, it’s not true. Dad couldn’t. Couldn’t. Next morning she drove to her parents. All the way, she rehearsed questions, but seeing her dad, calm as ever with his newspaper, she choked. — Oksy! What a surprise! — Victor looked up. — Mum’s at the shop, she’ll be back soon. — Dad, I need to ask… — Oxana perched on the sofa, twisting her handbag strap. — Do you know a woman named Marina Solloway? Victor froze. The paper slipped from his hands. — Where did you… — Her daughter — my neighbour. The one I introduced you to. She says you’re her dad. Silence hung like a shroud. — Let’s go to her — Victor said abruptly. — Right now. I need to make this right. The drive to the new build took forty minutes. There was no talking; Oxana stared out at passing houses, mind trying to make sense of everything. Alison opened straight away, as if she’d been waiting. She looked them both up and down, then stood aside for them to come in. — Come to confess? — she threw at Victor. — Thirty years later? — I’ve come to explain. — Victor pulled a folded paper out of his jacket. — Read this. Alison took the document suspiciously. As she read, her expression shifted — anger to confusion, confusion to bewilderment. — What… is this? — DNA test results, — Victor replied calmly. — I did them when your mum tried to take me to court for child support. The test says: I’m not your father. Marina cheated on me. You’re not my child. The paper fluttered to the floor… Oxana and her dad left Alison’s flat. At home, Oxana stepped towards Victor and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his coat. — I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry for even doubting you. Victor stroked her hair, just like he did when she was a little girl who’d had a fight with friends. — There’s nothing to forgive, love. Other people made this mess. Relations with Alison never recovered. But Oxana didn’t want them to. After everything, she had lost all respect for that neighbour forever…