**Diary Entry September 12th**
The relatives wasted no timethey took the box of kittens straight out to the street. Toby followed them without a sound and refused point-blank to step back inside the flat. For him, it was over. The home he knew meant nothing now.
They hadnt hesitated. The kittens, along with their mother, were simply left outside. Toby trailed after them, silent but stubborn. That empty flat wasnt his home anymore.
The old man had called him Toby, though he wasnt a proper terrierjust a scruffy little mongrel with short legs and a rust-coloured coat. From a distance, he mightve passed for one, but up close? Pure mutt. Still, he had spiritalways wagging his tail, always ready to greet anyone, human or dog, with boundless enthusiasm.
In the park where his owner used to take him, the regulars called him “a right menace”and for good reason. The moment the lead came off, hed dart off, making friends with every soul in sight. Other dog walkers would turn heel the second they spotted him, knowing Toby would rope their pets into some mad chase. Theyd shout, wave their arms, even toss sticks to shoo him off. But he never took offence. Offence wasnt in his nature.
The old man, thoughit hurt him to see it. Sometimes hed try to intervene, but Toby always understood. Hed tug at his trouser leg, drag him away, then curl up in his lap, licking his hands, his face, until the sadness passed.
One afternoon, the old man dozed off on a bench while Toby sniffed about nearby. When he woke, there was Tobyand beside him, a scrawny tabby cat, staring right at him.
“Made a new friend, have you?” the old man chuckled.
Toby wagged his tail furiously, licking his owners hand, then the cats ear, before plopping down between them. The cat, no fool, settled in and accepted the offeringsa bit of chicken and a few dog biscuits. It was clear she hadnt eaten well in a while.
When the old man got up to leave, Toby planted himself beside the cat.
“Whats this now?” the old man sighed.
Tobys message was clear: no cat, no moving. The old man grumbled, “Weve got enough on our plates as it is.” But he knew when he was beat. “Alright, whiskers. If hes chosen you, youd best come home with us.”
Turned out “whiskers” was a she. A few months later, three tiny kittens appeared in the flat. Toby was over the moonplaying with them, sleeping curled around them while their mother, whom the old man had named Maisie, perched on the windowsill, watching the world go by.
Life settled into a rhythm. The old man read up on cats, bought toys, bowls, everything they needed. The neighbours laughed at first, then softenedsoon, they were waving every morning as the old man led his odd little troop outside. The park gave way to the courtyard, safer and closer. Even the grumpiest neighbours stopped for a chat now and then.
Then, one bright weekend, Toby let out a sudden whine. Everyone rushed over.
The old man sat on the bench, leaning slightly to one side. A faint smile lingered on his lips, his eyes empty.
For days, the neighbours fed the animals. Then the distant relatives arrivedthe sort who only turn up when theres something to sort out. They took the kittens and Maisie out to the street. Toby followed. The home hed known was gone.
The neighbours watched, pitying, but none could take in all five. So they stayed there, by the benchToby, Maisie, and the three kittens.
Autumn rains came, cold and unrelenting. Maisie shielded the little ones as best she could, while Toby draped himself over them, soaking up the chill to keep them warm.
It was Mrs. Wilkins from the first floor who cracked first. She marched out in her dressing gown, scolding the whole street, scooped up the kittens, clutched Maisie to her chest, and barked at Toby, “Come on theninside, this instant!”
He obeyed, tail wagging.
Now the whole lot belonged to heror rather, to the grandchildren her own kids kept dumping on her. And, shockingly, she became the heart of the building. The other women started bringing round cakes, sausages, all sorts”for the little ones,” theyd say. Shed grumble, but more often than not, shed wipe her eyes when they werent looking.
Then the caretaker knocked one day. Sat for tea, made small talk. As he left, she called after him, “Oi! You forgot your envelopeits full of cash!”
He paused. “Didnt forget anything. Thats for you. From the whole building. However much each could spare. Dont refuse it.”
She stood stunned, then kissed him square on the cheek before he could react. He walked off, forgetting the lift, muttering to himself all the way up.
“Well?” his wife asked. “Did she take it?”
“Course,” he grinned. “Told her it was from everyone.”
“Good,” she nodded. “Weve got enough. Her, with three grandkids to feed? Lets make it monthly. And Ill have my mate at social services make it look like an official allowance”
Mrs. Wilkins, still outside, heard every word. She pressed a hand to her mouth, crying quietly. Then she stepped inside, leaned against the doorframe, and said to Toby, “See, lad? Sometimes a lie can be a blessing.”
Toby nuzzled her. Maisie rubbed against her legs. She stroked them both, whispering, “Thank you. Not for me. For the children.”
Thats the story. Or most of it. Mrs. Wilkins raised all three grandkids. Saw two of them married. Toby and Maisie live with one of them now. Still loved.
Some things are better left in the shadowsno need to spoil the tale with the rest.
**Lesson learned:** Even the hardest hearts can soften when love comes on four paws.
