My life changed forever: my children were growing up without me, but one day everything turned around.
At thirty-two, I found myself at a crossroads. Outwardly, everything seemed perfect: a cozy house in the suburbs of Norwich, a good job in finance, two wonderful kids—five-year-old David and three-year-old Eliza—and I was expecting my third child, another girl. Yet inside, there was a storm brewing that I could no longer ignore.
I grew up in a small village near Yorkshire, where my parents ran a farm. My childhood was spent among wheat fields, cows, and chickens, surrounded by the smell of hay and the clinking of milking pails. I loved being with my parents, helping them, stroking calves, and feeding chicks. My father often said, “Kate will become a vet, you’ll see.” And I believed it until life swept me in a different direction.
At 21, I moved to the city and began a career in banking. I forgot all about livestock—it was too captivating being consumed by a world of numbers, charts, clients, and targets. Everything seemed right until the realization hit me: I hardly saw my children. I’d come home by eight in the evening, exhausted, with an aching back and an empty soul. David was already asleep, and Eliza clung to me with sleepy arms, pleading for just five more minutes… and all I longed for was to collapse into bed and switch off from it all.
My second husband was kind and caring. He became a father to my children, even if he wasn’t their biological dad. He took on the household chores, cooked, took the kids to nursery, did the laundry, and even read bedtime stories to them. He tried hard, but I could see it was tough on him too. We were both caught up in a never-ending cycle.
When I asked my boss to reduce my hours, they refused. “You are indispensable,” they said. But something inside me broke. I knew it was time.
One day, while brushing our big, fluffy, forever-content dog, Murphy, I suddenly recalled my childhood. How I dreamed of treating animals, how much I loved cats, how I would take my children to the zoo at every chance. That love for all living things hadn’t vanished; it was simply lying dormant, waiting for the right moment. I looked up and thought, “What if…?”
I called my husband:
“Alex, how would you feel about opening a pet hotel?”
There was silence on the other end, followed by warm laughter:
“I’ve dreamed of this for a long time, just didn’t know how to suggest it to you.”
We were building a house, and initially, it included plans for two garages and a workshop for my husband. Everything changed. We redesigned it: now it included a cozy pet hotel section—with separate kennels, heating, and a play area.
I delved into paperwork, consultations, and approvals. It was a long journey, full of sleepless nights and self-doubt. But six months later, we welcomed our first guest—a cat named Bonnie, whose owner was going on holiday. That marked the beginning of a new chapter.
I left my banking job without looking back. Instead of the office blues, I had morning walks with dogs, cats purring, and children’s laughter outside the window. My children were once again close to me—morning breakfasts together, them helping me care for the animals during the day, and putting them to bed at night, listening to them excitedly recount their adventures.
My husband continued to support me—emotionally, physically, and financially. We became a real team. The house was always tidy, the fridge stocked with fresh food, and peace filled our hearts.
Our business flourished. People sense when you work with genuine care. They see how happy their pets are to return to us again. Some say, “It’s like a spa for animals here!” And I smile and thank them for their trust.
Now I truly feel alive again. My family is happy. And I don’t regret a single step. Choosing with your heart is always the right decision, even if it requires bravery.
Life is unpredictable. I once believed a banking career was my destiny. But today, I proudly say: I run a pet hotel. And I’m a mum, who is once again with her children.
