Mrs. Wilson, who lived next door to Granny Margaret, stopped stopping by her cottage. She began to spread whispers that the old woman had lost her mind in her twilight years, claiming she kept a wolverine or a shapeshifter in her garden.
One rainy afternoon, Granny Margaret discovered a tiny, silvergrey kitten shivering among the lettuces in her allotment. She lived alone, but she was a kind soul who welcomed the little creature with open arms. She tucked the kitten close to her chest as the downpour hammered the thatch roof, and the old coalfired stove in the kitchen crackled merrily.
Soon the kitten, warmed by the fire, began to lap the milk Margaret carefully poured for it. The house, which had felt empty for years, suddenly buzzed with conversation. The kitten purred while listening to Margarets humming, and it played with a ball of yarn as she knitted socks and even a pair of mittens.
There were always customers at the village shop, and the growing cat became a proficient mouser, catching mice and rats and patrolling the garden with confidence. It would dart up the apple trees and leap down the moment it saw Margaret, never troubling her with its odd habits.
Margaret started calling the cat Tommy affectionately, and Tommy would come when she called. One day the neighbour claimed the animal resembled a wolverine more than a cat. Margaret simply smiled and ignored the comment.
In the heat of a midsummers day, while she was picking raspberries and blackberries, a sudden hissing made her look down. A massive adder coiled itself in the compost heap, ready to strike. Her legs felt like jelly; age and fear held her back. Before she could react, Tommy sprang at the snake, slashing it with sharp claws. He wrestled with the reptile, tossing it onto a tall oak before it could strike again.
Later, the same adder slipped into the neighbours garden, squealing like a frightened pig. Tommy bounded in, snatched the snake back, and ignored the neighbours shrieks. After that incident, Mrs. Wilson stopped visiting, feeding the gossip that the old lady was mad for keeping a beast or a werewolf.
Margaret paid no mind to the cats impressive size; he was her beloved companion. She stroked his soft fur as he curled up on the rug beside her bed, sleeping peacefully. Tommy loved to romp through the thick grass, sometimes dozing there in the scorching sun, but he always returned home when dusk fell.
One night, Margaret fell asleep with the kitchen window ajar, accustomed to letting the cat slip out for a night patrol. Two local drunks, hearing that she had just started receiving her state pension, forced a rag over her mouth and tried to pry information about her money. They roused her, but the gag silenced her cries, and she trembled in fear.
A sudden crash echoed through the cottage as the intruders overturned furniture. At that moment a massive, shaggy shadow leapt through the open window. One of the thieves shouted, Boris, is that you? Did you find something in the neighbours garden? She just got her pension!
The shadowTommy, grown huge and ferallunged at the first thief, sinking its teeth into his throat, then at the second, clawing his eyes. He squealed like a pig, Lord Almighty! This is unholy! The creatures green eyes glowed in the dim light as it sprang from one assailant to the other. Margaret managed to pull the rag from her mouth and flicked the light switch. The sudden illumination revealed the burglars faces.
She screamed for help, and every window in the lane lit up. The neighbours burst in, finding the floor slick with blood. One drunk lay sprawled, his face torn; another clutched his throat, his shirt drenched. Margaret sat on her bed, clutching Tommy, who hissed and barred anyone from approaching.
Remembering Mrs. Wilsons warning, they chased the third thief into the back garden shed, where he hid, hoping to escape. They beat him until he surrendered, recovered the stolen cash, and returned it to the neighbour. They decided not to involve the police, believing they had taught the men a hard lesson.
The culprits were warned that another attack from Tommy would be their fate. One of them stammered, It wasnt a cat it was a monster! Margaret snapped, You daft fool, youve insulted my cat! and gave him a sharp slap, reminding him that cruelty never wins.
The night ended with the cottage safe, the garden quiet, and Tommy curled once more beside his beloved granny. The tale spread through the village, reminding everyone that kindness and loyalty, even in the smallest of creatures, can fend off the darkest threats. In the end, compassion and vigilance protect us far more than fear or gossip ever could.
