**When Happiness Knocked on the Door**
Lydia was alone now. Completely alone. A year ago, her mother had passed—her only pillar, her heart, her family. Not long after, Rudy, her elderly ginger cat and loyal companion of fifteen years, had gone too. The last living soul who had warmed her days. After that, life seemed to freeze: home, work, the shop, then home again. Day after day. In utter solitude.
That evening, she returned from work later than usual—an unexpected meeting had held her back. Her heart felt heavy, her thoughts tangled. She walked along the pavement, arms wrapped tightly around her coat, wondering, *What’s the point? What’s left to wait for when my heart’s so empty?* Lydia stepped into the hallway, reached her door—and suddenly froze, holding her breath.
On the doormat sat a tiny grey kitten. Neat, striped, with wide, curious eyes. Seeing her, the little thing wobbled to its feet and let out a soft, squeaky mewl. Her hands trembled as she scooped it up, cradling it to her chest.
“Where did you come from, little one? Who left you here?” she whispered, fighting back tears.
There was still cat food in the cupboard—leftover from Rudy’s days. A bowl, a blanket, even his favourite ribbon toy. The kitten ate hungrily, then curled into a ball in the armchair and purred. Lydia watched, afraid to disturb the fragile magic.
Then her fingers brushed against a slim collar with a tiny bell—silent, probably broken. No name tag. Someone must be looking for this little soul. She sighed. Her heart ached; just as she’d let joy in, she’d have to let it go.
She wrote notes and stuck them up around the neighbourhood. Stepping outside, she nearly collided with a man pinning up a notice: “Missing Kitten.” He had just moved into the next building. His name was Nicholas. A careless mistake—the window left open, the kitten slipping out.
“Come with me,” Lydia said. “He’s at mine.”
The kitten sprang excitedly into Nicholas’s arms, recognising its owner.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said earnestly. “If you’d like, do visit us. Whiskers would be happy.”
Two days later, they met again. Lydia dropped by for tea. They spoke of life, shared stories. Nicholas admitted he’d recently divorced, no children—just the cat now, his everything. Lydia told him about her mother, about Rudy. They talked for hours, easily, as if they’d known each other forever.
Whiskers sprawled lazily across her lap. Nicholas looked at her with warmth. And for the first time in so long, she didn’t feel alone. She felt needed.
That was the start of it. Friendship grew into something more—walks, films, laughter… Life regained meaning. And who’d have guessed? All because of a little ball of fluff on a doormat.
The most important thing is to believe happiness can come. And it does. Sometimes quietly, barely noticed. Sometimes mewling and nuzzling against your heart.
