One evening, happiness came knocking on the door.
Lydia was alone. Completely alone. A year ago, her mum had passed away—her only rock, her heart, her whole family. And not long after, Rudy, her old ginger tomcat, had gone too—her loyal companion for fifteen years, the last warm soul keeping her days from feeling empty. After that, life just… stopped. Home, work, the shops, home again. Day after day. Nothing but silence.
That night, she came back from work later than usual—stuck in an unexpected meeting. Her heart felt heavy, her thoughts tangled. She walked along the pavement, arms wrapped tight around her coat, thinking, *What’s the point? What’s left for me when everything I loved is gone?* She stepped into her building, reached her door—and froze.
There, curled up on the doormat, was a tiny grey kitten. Neat, stripy, looking up at her with wide, curious eyes. When it saw her, it wobbled to its feet and let out the tiniest squeak. Lydia’s hands shook as she scooped it up, cradling it close.
“Where’d you come from, little one?” she whispered, fighting back tears.
She still had a pouch of cat food lying around—leftover from when Rudy was alive. The bowl, the cosy blanket, even his favourite toy mouse. The kitten ate hungrily, then curled up in the armchair, purring like a little engine. Lydia watched, hardly daring to breathe, as if it might vanish if she blinked.
Then her fingers brushed against something—a thin collar with a tiny bell. It didn’t jingle—broken, maybe. No name tag. Someone was missing this little one. Her chest ached. Just like that, she’d let happiness in, only to have to let it go again.
She put up posters around the neighbourhood. And as she stepped outside, she nearly bumped into a man pinning up a notice of his own: *Missing Kitten.* He’d just moved into the flat next door. His name was Nicholas. He’d left a window open—kitten had slipped out.
“Come with me,” Lydia said. “He’s at mine.”
The moment Nicholas held out his hands, the kitten wriggled excitedly, recognising its human.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” Nicholas said, his voice thick with relief. “If you ever fancy a cuppa, pop round. Whiskers would love it.”
Two days later, she did. Over tea, they talked—about life, their stories. Nicholas admitted he’d just gone through a divorce, no kids, just Whiskers keeping him company. Lydia spoke about her mum, about Rudy. They talked for hours, easy and warm, as if they’d known each other forever.
Whiskers sprawled across her lap, content. Nicholas smiled at her in a way that made her feel… seen. And for the first time in so long, she didn’t feel alone. She felt needed.
That was the start of it. Walks, film nights, long chats… Life began to matter again. And who’d have thought? All because of a tiny ball of fluff on a doormat.
The thing is—you’ve got to believe happiness can find you. And it does. Sometimes quietly, when you least expect it. Sometimes with a meow and a nudge right into your heart.
