The relatives didnt waste any timethey just dumped the box of kittens out on the street. Corgi silently followed them and flat-out refused to go back inside the empty flat. To him, that place meant nothing now.
The little dog, lovingly named Corgi by his grandad, wasnt actually a corgi at all. From a distance, he mightve looked like one of those stubby-legged little rascals, but up close? Total muttginger fur, short legs, and a tail that never stopped wagging whenever he met someone.
Corgi was the friendliest, most curious, good-natured little soul. In the local park where his old owner took him, folks called him a “right menace”and for good reason. The second he was off-lead, hed bolt straight into the thick of it, making friends with every dog and human in sight. Running, playing, socialisingthat was his whole world.
Other dog owners would turn tail the moment they spotted himthey knew theyd be stuck there forever otherwise. Their dogs couldnt resist his charm either, refusing to budge. So, the owners would have to drag their pets away, waving arms, shouting, even brandishing the odd stick to shoo Corgi off.
But he never took it to hearthe didnt even know how.
His old owner, though? It broke his heart watching people try to chase his little mate away. Sometimes hed step in, but Corgi seemed to understandhed tug at his trousers, pull him along, then curl up in his lap, licking his hands and face until everything felt alright again.
One day, when the old man dozed off on a park bench, Corgi, as usual, wandered off. When the old bloke woke up, he wasnt just greeted by his dogbut a cat too. A ginger, whiskery little thing sat beside him, staring him down.
“Made yourself a new friend, have you?” he asked, surprised.
Corgi wagged his tail, licked his owner, then the catbefore plonking himself down between them. The cat wasnt daftit settled in and helped itself to the offered scrapssome chicken and a few dog biscuits. Clearly, it wasnt spoiled.
When the old man got up to leave, Corgi planted himself firmly beside his new pal.
“Whats this now?” the old man huffed.
But Corgi made it clearno cat, no moving. The old guy tried protesting:
“Weve got enough on our plates as it is”
But he knew he didnt have a choice. He sighed.
“Alright, you whiskery little beggarif hes picked you, youd better come home with us. Might liven the place up a bit.”
Turns out, the “cat” was actually a she. A few months later, three fluffy kittens appeared in the flat. Corgi was over the moon. He looked after them, played with them, even napped with them while Whiskersas the old man called herwatched the street from the windowsill.
Life settled into a happy rhythm. The old man bought everything the new family needed and spent hours reading up on cats and dogs online. The neighbours had a laugh at first, but soon they were touchedevery morning, theyd see him walking his odd little gang: Corgi, Whiskers, and the three kittens.
The park got swapped for the back gardencloser and safer. Now, every neighbour stopped to say hello, some even sitting with him a while. Corgi, Whiskers, and the kittens couldnt have been happier.
Then, the unthinkable happened. One sunny weekend, as the garden buzzed with life, Corgi suddenly let out a whimper. Everyone rushed over.
The old man sat on the bench, slightly slumped. A faint smile lingered on his face. His little friends gathered around, but his eyes were empty
For a few days, the neighbours fed the animals. Then the distant relatives showed up. They were the ones who dumped the box of kittensand Whiskerson the street. Corgi followed them out. The home where his beloved owner no longer lived meant nothing to him now.
The neighbours watched sadly, but none could take in all five animals. So, they stayed there by the benchCorgi, Whiskers, and the three kittens.
Autumn rains came. Cold and miserable. Whiskers tried shielding the little ones with her body, and Corgi didnt hesitatehe curled over them, keeping them warm.
The first to crack was the grumpy old woman from the first floor. She stormed out in her dressing gown, cursing up a storm. She scooped up the kittens, clutched Whiskers to her chest, and barked at Corgi:
“Righthome. Now!”
The dog trotted after her, tail wagging happily.
Now the whole crew belonged to heror rather, her grandkids, whod “dumped” them on her. Crazier still, she became the heart of the building. The neighbours started bringing cakes, sausages, all sortsmostly for the little ones. Shed grumble, but more often than not, shed secretly wipe her eyes.
Then one day, the caretaker dropped by. Had a cuppa, chatted a while. As he got up to leave, she called out:
“Oi! You left your envelope! Its full of money!”
He paused.
“Didnt forget a thing. Thats for you. From everyone in the building. However much they could spare. Dont argue.”
The old woman froze. Then, surprising even herself, she kissed his cheek. The caretaker leftforgot the lift and took the stairs, muttering under his breath.
“Well?” his wife asked at home. “Did she take it?”
“Course,” he grinned. “Told her it was from the whole building.”
“Good,” she nodded. “Weve got enough. Shes got three grandkids to raise alone. Tell you whattake her some every month. And Ill sort it with my mate at social services to make it look like benefits”
The old woman, still standing outside, heard every word. She covered her mouth, crying quietly. Then she went inside, leaned against the doorframe, and said to Corgi:
“See, love Sometimes a lie can be a blessing.”
Corgi nuzzled her. Whiskers rubbed against her hand. She stroked them gently and whispered:
“Thank you. Not for me. For the grandkids”
And thats it. Or maybe not. The old woman raised all three grandkids. Even married two of them off. Corgi and Whiskers live with one of them now. Still loved.
Thats the story. The rest? Best leave it be. No need to spoil the mood.
