When He Got Home from Work, the Cat Was Gone Oliver was an ordinary young man, free of bad habits. On his 25th birthday, his parents gave him the gift of a flat—helping him with the deposit for his first mortgage. So, Oliver started living on his own. He worked as a software developer, preferred a quiet life, and kept mostly to himself. To beat the loneliness, Oliver decided to adopt a kitten. The kitten, whom he named Charming, was born with a defect in his front paws. The previous owners wanted to have him put down, but Oliver couldn’t bear the thought and took the little one in. They got along splendidly—Oliver always rushed home from work to see Charming, who would be waiting for him at the hallway mat. After a while, Oliver began dating a co-worker, Sophie. Sophie was clever and soon swept Oliver off his feet; less than a month later, she moved in. She immediately disliked Charming and asked Oliver to give the cat away, which he refused, explaining how important Charming was to him. Sophie didn’t give up and kept pressing Oliver to get rid of the cat. Oliver told her Charming was staying. Sophie claimed the cat ruined their image since guests were disgusted by his paws. Torn between Sophie and Charming, Oliver was caught in the middle—he cared for both deeply. Incidentally, Oliver’s parents were uneasy about Sophie, finding her rude and brash. They urged him not to rush into anything serious without taking a closer look first. When Sophie’s parents later visited for the first time, Oliver realised he didn’t want a future with her. Sophie’s father laughed at Charming the moment he stepped in, calling him a freak. Oliver stood up for his cat, but the whole evening, Sophie and her father mocked Charming’s looks and joked about sending him away. Sophie’s mum laughed along with them. The very next day, Oliver came home from work—Charming was gone. When he asked Sophie where the cat was, she said she’d taken Charming to the vets and left him there. Oliver frantically searched for his cat for five hours… and found him at last. Delighted to be reunited, Charming purred softly in Oliver’s arms. When Oliver returned home, he told Sophie to pack up and leave. He never wanted to see her again; she was simply repulsive to him now. The next morning, Sophie quietly packed her things and left, indignant. She never imagined the cat would be chosen over her. Now, Oliver and Charming live happily together, and the little cat greets his owner joyfully every evening when he comes home from work.

Author Emily TaylorReading 4 minViews 1

When he got home from work, the cat was nowhere to be seen.

Oliver was a modest blokeno vices, unless you count an occasional penchant for lemon drizzle cake. On his 25th birthday, his parents gifted him a flat. Strictly speaking, they helped find enough quid for the initial deposit on the mortgage, but Oliver never quibbled over details. He moved into his own place and began living solo. Oliver was a software developer who preferred peace and quiet, rarely socialised, and had the phone set to do not disturb as a lifestyle choice.

To stave off mind-numbing boredom, Oliver decided to adopt a kitten. The poor little chap had wonky front paws. The breeder was all set to put him down, but Olivers heart turned to mush and he brought him home instead. He named the feline Sir Handsome. Life together was rather splendidOliver rushed home from work to see Sir Handsome, who always waited patiently on the doormat in the hall, tail twitching with anticipation.

Things changed when Oliver started seeing a girl from work. The girl was a firecracker, swept Oliver right off his size nines, and moved in less than a month later. Her name was Jennifera proper English name, if ever there was one. Jennifer, upon crossing the threshold, took an instant dislike to Sir Handsome. She asked Oliver to re-home him, but Oliver refused, explaining that Sir Handsome was family.

Jennifer wasn’t ready to give up on her campaign and began pestering Oliver to do something about the cat. Oliver put his foot down; Sir Handsome was staying. Jennifer tutted and claimed the cat was making them look odd, and that their friends recoiled at his peculiar paws. Oliver found himself torn between his commitment to Jennifer and his bond with Sir Handsomecue dramatic sigh.

Speaking of family, Olivers parents werent thrilled about Jennifer. They thought she was pushy and a tad on the rude side. They advised Oliver not to rush into anything permanent, and suggested he take a closer look.

The clincher came when Jennifers parents came for tea. Oliver realised, after watching Jennifers father snort with laughter at the sight of Sir Handsome, that he couldnt see himself settling down with her. Jennifers dad, upon entering, called the cat a freak. Oliver mustered a defence, but Jennifer and her father spent the entire evening mocking Sir Handsome, brainstorming creative ways to offload the poor chap. Jennifers mother giggled along, chipping in her own ideas.

Next day, Oliver returned from work. The flat was oddly quiet. Sir Handsome was gone. When Oliver asked Jennifer where the cat was, she breezily announced shed taken him to the vet and left him there.

Oliver jumped into action, spending five frantic hours searching every veterinary surgery in town. Finally, he found Sir Handsome, quietly purring and utterly relieved that his human had come for him.

When Oliver got home, he told Jennifer to pack up and leave. He didnt want to see her again. She was, in his view, entirely repulsive.

The next morning, Jennifer slipped out the door, silent and wounded. Shed never imagined the cat would ever take precedence over her. But Oliver and Sir Handsome remain, growing more inseparable by the day. Now Sir Handsome greets Oliver with a joyful purr after every workday, and everything is just as it should be.

Mother-in-Law Times Two “Well, I never!” exclaimed George, instead of a greeting, as he opened the door to find a petite, sprightly old lady in jeans, her lips curled into a sly grin and her mischievous eyes twinkling under lowered lids. “I recognise her—Valerie Peterson, Irene’s gran. But turning up unannounced, not so much as a phone call…” “Hello, lad!” she greeted him, still smiling. “You going to invite me in, then?” George bustled, “Yes, absolutely, please come through.” Valerie rolled her wheeled suitcase into the flat. Later, as George offered her tea, she directed, “Make mine strong! So Irene’s at work, little Olivia’s at nursery, and what about you? Why aren’t you busy?” “Work sent me on leave,” he answered gloomily. “Two weeks—company policy.” There went his dreams of a peaceful fortnight. With hope, he asked his guest, “Will you be staying long?” “Spot on,” she replied, crushing his hopes, “I’ll be here a while.” George sighed again. He barely knew Valerie Peterson—he’d only glimpsed her at his wedding to Irene, when she’d come in from another city. But his own father-in-law spoke about his mother-in-law in such hushed and nervous tones, anyone could see she was respected—if not downright feared. “Wash the dishes,” she ordered, “and get yourself ready. We’ll have a tour of the town, and you’ll be my guide!” George didn’t even try to protest, not after the tone she’d used. It reminded him of Sergeant Prichard back in the army—a man you never argued with. “You’ll show me the riverside!” Valerie instructed. “What’s the best way to get there?” She looped her arm through his and confidently set off down the pavement, eyes wide with curiosity. “Taxi’s easiest,” George shrugged. Without warning, Valerie tucked her fingers into a ring and whistled piercingly. A passing taxi screeched to a stop. “Do you have to whistle like that? What will people think?” George said, helping her climb into the front seat. “They won’t think anything about me,” she grinned impishly. “They’ll probably think it’s you with no manners!” The taxi driver burst out laughing and clapped Valerie on the hand as if they were lifelong mates. For the rest of the riverside stroll, his sprightly relative regaled George with tales: “You seem a quiet, polite sort,” she said to him. “Your gran probably acts all refined too, but that’s not me. My late husband—Irina’s granddad, bless him—took forever to get used to me. He was a bookish, gentle sort, then I turned up—dragged him up mountains, got him to parachute with me. The one thing he wouldn’t touch was a hang-glider. Terrified! He’d watch the skies while I looped overhead.” To George’s surprise, Irene had never mentioned any of this about her whirlwind gran. It explained a lot. “Ever jumped from a plane yourself?” she asked, eyeing him. “In the army, fourteen times,” George replied with pride. “Good lad!” Valerie nodded approvingly and began to hum: “It’s a long drop down, When the parachute’s slow…” George recognised the song and joined in, their voices blending and driving away his nerves. Afterwards, Valerie suggested a break. “Let’s get something to eat—the aroma from that barbecue hut has me starving!” They sat near a swarthy, hawk-eyed chef skewering meat with the look of a man just as happy to duel with knives. Valerie winked and burst into song: “Gamarjoba, my friend, Wouldn’t it be grand to sing at a wedding?” The chef’s eyes lit up at the unexpected duet, and together they improvised a lively chorus before he bowed gallantly and set down a feast of skewers, flatbread, and fresh salad. He even brought two glasses of icy wine with a flourish. Drawn by the scent, a small grey kitten crept from the shrubbery. “Perfect—you’re just what we need!” Valerie beamed. “Come here, darling.” She turned to the chef: “Sir, could you bring some fresh meat for our little friend?” While the kitten devoured its treat, Valerie chided George: “You’ve got a little girl at home! And no cat? How are you planning to teach her kindness, love, compassion? This kitten stays!” After the outing, Valerie scrubbed the new family pet while sending George shopping for supplies. When he returned, arms laden with litter trays and beds, the flat was ringing with laughter as Irene and Olivia clung to their delighted gran. The kitten—with a regal air—watched from the sofa backrest. Valerie dispensed gifts. “Olivia, a summer set with shorts for you… Irene, nothing boosts a woman’s confidence in her husband’s eyes like lacy knickers…” The next week, Olivia skipped nursery, she and Valerie returning home each day exhausted but glowing from adventures. At home, George and the kitten (now named Lionel) awaited them, and in the evenings, Irene joined for family walks, Lionel in tow. “George, I need a word,” Valerie said seriously one night. “I’m leaving tomorrow—it’s time. Here: after I’m gone, give this document to Irene. It’s my will. She gets the flat and everything in it, you get our family library—some very rare treasures in there…” “Oh, Valerie, honestly!” George protested, but she silenced him. “I haven’t told Irene, only you—my heart’s not well, and it could end suddenly. Best to be ready.” “But you shouldn’t be alone!” “Oh, I’m never alone,” she smiled. “My daughter, your mother-in-law, is just a town away. You look after Irene and raise Olivia well. You’re a good man—reliable. And as for me—well, I’m your mother-in-law squared, aren’t I?” She laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Couldn’t you stay a little longer?” George pleaded. Valerie just smiled and shook her head. The whole family—Lionel included—walked her out for her taxi the next day. Valerie made her trademark whistle and a taxi screeched to a halt. “Come along, son, you’re seeing me to the station!” she commanded, kissing Irene and Olivia before hopping on the front seat. The cabbie stared in disbelief as George loaded the suitcase. “Never seen a proper English lady before?” George muttered. The spry, silver-haired matriarch shook with laughter and high-fived George with a resounding smack as the adventure came to a close.

Stole My Father: – Mum, I’ve moved in! Can you believe it—finally! Oksana balanced her phone between shoulder and ear while wrestling with an uncooperative lock. The key turned stiffly, as if testing the new owner. – Oh darling, thank goodness! And the flat—everything okay? Her mother’s voice was anxious but thrilled. – It’s perfect! Bright, spacious. The balcony faces east, just like I wanted. Is Dad there? – I’m here, I’m here! boomed Victor’s deep voice. They’d switched to speakerphone. All settled, little fledgling left the nest? – Dad, I’m twenty-five—hardly a fledgling! – You’ll always be my chick. Checked the locks? No draughty windows? Radiators working— – Victor, let her settle in! Mum interrupted. Oksana, be careful—it’s a new build, who knows who lives next door. Oksana laughed, finally conquering the lock and pushing open the door. – Mum, it’s not a seventies council block. Nice flat, nice neighbours. I’ll be fine. Weeks blurred into a marathon of DIY shops, furniture stores, and her new flat. She fell asleep with wallpaper catalogues next to her pillow, woke up pondering the best grout colour for the bathroom tiles. That Saturday, standing in her living room, Oksana was comparing curtain fabrics when her phone buzzed again. – How’s it going? Dad checked in. – Slowly but surely. Choosing curtains today. Torn between ‘ivory’ and ‘baked milk’—any thoughts? – Same colour, just different sales pitch. – Dad, you know nothing about shades! – But I know electrics. Wired the sockets properly? Renovation devoured time, money, and nerves, but with every new touch, the bare walls began to feel like home. Oksana chose the milky-beige bedroom wallpaper, hired the laminate fitter herself, even reconfigured the furniture to make her tiny kitchen feel bigger. When the last builder cleared away the leftover rubble, Oksana sat down on the gleaming lounge floor, bathed in soft light pouring through brand new curtains, smelling of freshness and a hint of paint. It was hers, her very own home… She met her neighbour three days after moving in—while fiddling with her keys at the door, she heard the flat across the hall unlock. – Oh, the newbie! A woman in her thirties peered out, short hair, bright lipstick, curious eyes. – I’m Alina. Live right opposite—so we’re neighbours now. – Oksana. Nice to meet you. – If you ever need salt, sugar, or a chat, knock anytime. It’s weird at first living alone here—I remember. Alina turned out to be great company. They drank tea in Oksana’s kitchen, swapped stories about the management company, quirks of their floor’s layout. Alina always knew the best broadband, the handiest plumber, and which corner shop had the freshest bread. – Seriously, I’ve got a recipe for apple cake—out of this world! Alina thumbed her phone. It takes half an hour, tastes like you’ve been baking all day. – Yes please! Haven’t tested my oven yet. Days became weeks, and Oksana was glad to have such an open neighbour. They crossed paths on the landing, shared quick coffees, even swapped books. On Saturday, Victor arrived—to wrestle with a bookshelf that stubbornly refused to stay up. – You’ve got the wrong plugs, Dad observed. These are for plasterboard; you’ve got concrete walls. Hang on, real ones in the car. An hour later, the shelf hung perfectly straight. Victor packed his tools, inspected his handiwork, and nodded with satisfaction. – That’ll last a good twenty years. – You’re the best, Dad! Oksana hugged him. Together, they walked downstairs, chatting about work and her scatterbrained new manager who lost track of deadlines and paperwork. At the entrance they met Alina, arms loaded with supermarket bags. – Hi! Oksana waved. Meet my dad, Victor. Dad—this is Alina, the neighbour I told you about. – Lovely to meet you, Victor smiled warmly. Alina froze a second, her eyes flicking between Victor’s face and Oksana’s. Her smile became oddly stiff, almost pasted-on. – Likewise, she said quickly and hurried inside. Everything changed after that. The next morning, Oksana bumped into Alina on the landing and greeted her, but got only a frosty nod. Two days later, she invited her for a cuppa—Alina said she was busy, didn’t let her finish. Then came the complaints… The first police visit was at nine at night. – Got a report of loud music, said the apologetic officer. – What music? Oksana was baffled. I was reading! – Well, neighbours are complaining… Letters arrived at the management office about ‘deafening footsteps’, ‘constant banging’, ‘music late at night’. The local police began showing up regularly, always sheepish and shrugging. Oksana knew who was stirring the pot, but not why. Every morning was a lottery—eggshells smeared on the door? Coffee grounds stuffed between the frame and door? A bag of potato peelings tucked under the doormat? She started getting up half an hour early to clean before work. Her hands stung from cleaning products; there was always a sick feeling in her throat. – This can’t go on, she muttered one evening, searching for a video door viewer. She installed it in twenty minutes—a tiny camera hidden in a normal door peephole, streaming everything to her phone. And waited. She didn’t have to wait long. At 3 a.m., her phone alerted her to movement. Oksana couldn’t believe her eyes as Alina—in robe and slippers—methodically smeared something dark over her doorway, careful and practiced as if doing a chore. The next night, Oksana stayed awake, listening for every sound. Around half past two, she heard rustling outside. She threw open the door. Alina froze, clutching a squelching bag. – What have I done to you? Oksana couldn’t believe how small her voice sounded. – Why are you doing this to me? Alina slowly dropped the bag. Her face twisted, beautiful features melting into a mask of old anger. – You? You did nothing. But your precious Daddy— – What’s my father got to do with any of this? – Because he’s my father too! Alina’s voice rose, not caring who heard. He raised you, spoiled you, but he left me when I was three! Never gave us a penny, never called! Mum and I scraped by while he played happy families with your mum. So you—well, you stole my father! Oksana backed away to her doorway, stunned. – You’re lying… – Am I? Ask him yourself! Ask if he remembers Marina Soloviev and her daughter Alina—the ones he threw out like rubbish! Shutting the door, Oksana slid down, mind racing. Not true, not true. Dad couldn’t have. He couldn’t. The next morning, she went to her parents. She rehearsed her question all the way, but the words stuck when she saw her father—calm as ever, reading his paper. – Oksana! What a surprise! Victor stood up. Mum’s at the shops, she’ll be back soon. – Dad, I need to ask you… Oksana perched on the sofa, tugging her bag strap. Do you know a woman named Marina Soloviev? Victor went rigid. The newspaper slipped to the floor. – How did you— – Her daughter’s my neighbour. The one I introduced you to. She says you’re her father. Silence lasted forever. – We’re going to see her, Victor said abruptly. Right now. I need to put this right. Forty minutes later, they were outside Alina’s flat, silent throughout the drive. Oksana stared at passing houses, her world broken into pieces. Alina opened the door at once, as if prepared. She glared at them, but stepped aside. – Come to confess? Thirty years late? – Come to explain. Victor pulled a folded sheet from his jacket. Read this. Alina snatched it, distrustful. As she read, her anger slipped into confusion, her confusion into shock. – What…? – DNA results, Victor answered quietly. Your mum tried to sue me for child support. The test showed—I’m not your father. Marina cheated on me. You’re not my daughter. Alina dropped the paper. Oksana and Victor left. Back home, Oksana hugged her dad tightly. – I’m sorry, Dad. Sorry I doubted you. Victor stroked her hair—just like when she’d run to him as a child after a fight with her friends. – You have nothing to apologise for, sweetheart. It’s other people who are to blame. Things with Alina never improved. And after all her spite, Oksana had no desire to mend things—a woman like that could never earn her respect again…

When He Got Home From Work, The Cat Was Gone Patrick was a humble young man, free of bad habits. For his 25th birthday, his parents helped him buy a flat by supporting him with his mortgage down payment. He began living alone, working as a software developer, preferring a quiet life and keeping to himself. To beat the loneliness, Patrick decided to adopt a kitten. The little cat had a deformity in his front paws. The people who owned the kitten’s mother were planning to put him down, but Patrick felt sorry for him and took him in, calling him Handsome. The two got on famously – Patrick rushed back from work, and Handsome was always waiting for him by the doormat. After a while, Patrick started dating a clever woman from work, and in less than a month, she had moved in. From the start, she didn’t like Handsome and asked Patrick to give the cat away. Patrick refused, explaining that Handsome meant the world to him. Maria didn’t let it drop and kept pestering Patrick to get rid of the cat. Patrick finally insisted that Handsome was staying. Maria argued that the cat spoiled their image, as guests were repulsed by his paws. Patrick felt torn between Maria and Handsome, loving both dearly. On top of that, Patrick’s parents didn’t approve of Maria, thinking she was rude and brash. They warned their son not to rush into any commitment with her and to take a closer look. When Maria’s parents visited, Patrick realised he didn’t want a future with her. Her father laughed upon seeing Handsome at the door, calling him a “freak.” Patrick defended the cat, but all evening Maria and her father mocked Handsome for his looks and suggested getting rid of him, coming up with outrageous ideas for where to send the poor animal. Maria’s mother joined in the laughter. The next day, when Patrick got home from work, Handsome was gone. When he asked Maria where the cat was, she replied that she’d taken him to the vet clinic and left him there. Patrick frantically searched for Handsome for five hours…and found him. Purring in Patrick’s arms, the cat was delighted to be reunited with his owner. When Patrick got home, he told Maria to pack her things and leave. He never wanted to see her again. She was simply revolting to him now. The next morning, Maria quietly packed her things and left, wounded. She had never imagined a cat could matter more than her. Now Handsome and Patrick live together, and Handsome happily greets his owner after work every day.

The Snap of a Dry Branch Beneath His Foot Went Unheard by Johnny; In a Split Second, His World Spun Like a Colourful Kaleidoscope, Burst into a Million Shining Stars, and Then Reformed in a Sharp, Burning Pain Just Above His Left Elbow — “Ow…” Johnny Clutched His Injured Arm, Howling in Pain. — “Johnny!” His friend Sally darted to his side, dropping to her knees. “Does it hurt?” — “No, it’s lovely!” he grimaced and whimpered sarcastically. Sally reached out and gingerly touched Johnny’s shoulder. — “Just leave it!” he suddenly snapped, eyes flashing. “It hurts! Don’t touch me!” The frustration hurt twice over. First, the likely broken arm meant weeks in a cast—and endless jokes from friends. Second, climbing the tree was his own idea: he’d wanted to impress Sally with his skill and daring. If the first reason for his resentment was bearable, the second infuriated him. Now, not only had he embarrassed himself in front of her, but she was trying to pity him! No way… Standing abruptly, holding his limp arm close, Johnny set off for the hospital. — “Don’t worry, Johnny, it’ll be okay!” Sally hurried beside him, trying anything to console her friend. “It’ll be alright, Johnny! It’ll all be fine!” — “Just leave me alone,” he stopped, glaring at her, then spat on the ground. “How will it be fine? I broke my arm, can’t you see? Go home, you’re driving me mad!” He strode away, leaving Sally standing with wide grey-green eyes, whispering the same words over and over: — “It’ll be okay, Johnny… It’ll be okay…” *** Mr. John Victor, if we don’t see that money transfer in the next twenty-four hours, we’ll be very disappointed. Oh, and by the way, there’s a weather warning for black ice on the roads tomorrow, so drive safe. You know, accidents happen… nobody’s immune to a bit of bad luck. All the best. The line went dead, leaving silence. John flung his phone aside, grabbed fistfuls of his own hair, and leaned back in his chair. — “Where am I supposed to get that? That payment wasn’t due until next month…” Sighing, he picked up the phone again, dialled, and held it to his ear. — “Mrs. Olga Vass, can we send our partners in the holding company payment for the equipment today?” — “But… Mr. Victor…” — “Can we or can’t we?” — “Yes, but it’ll mess up the rest of this month’s payments…” — “To hell with them! We’ll deal with it later. Wire the money to the holding company today.” — “Okay, but after this—” John hung up before she finished and slammed his fist into the chair’s armrest. — “Bloody leeches…” Something soft and unexpected brushed his shoulder and he jumped in his seat. — “Sasha, I told you not to bother me when I’m working, didn’t I?” His wife Alexandra leaned in, kissed his ear, and stroked his hair. — “Johnny, please don’t get upset, alright? Everything will work out.” — “I’m sick of hearing ‘everything will be okay!’ Haven’t you had enough? What if I’m killed tomorrow, will it all be fine then?” John shot to his feet and pushed Sasha away. — “What were you doing, making soup? Then go do it! Don’t get on my nerves—it’s bad enough already!” She sighed and walked to the door. At the threshold, she paused, then whispered three words, just as always. *** “You know, I’m lying here remembering our whole life…” The old man blinked, his cloudy eyes turning to his aged wife. Her once-beautiful face was lined with wrinkles, her shoulders stooped, her posture no longer proud. Never letting go of his hand, she gently adjusted the drip in his arm, then smiled silently. — “Every time I got into trouble, when I was at death’s door, when the worst happened—always, you’d come and say the same phrase. You can’t imagine how it used to drive me mad—your naïve little mantra. I wanted to strangle you for saying it all the time,” he tried to smile, then was racked by a fit of coughing. When he caught his breath, he continued, “I broke bones, got death threats, lost everything, fell so far hardly anyone climbs out, and all my life, you kept saying, ‘Everything will be fine.’ And not once did you lie to me. How did you know?” — “I didn’t know a thing, Johnny,” the old woman sighed. “You think I was saying it for you? That was for myself, to calm my own nerves. You’re my whole life, silly. When you were in trouble, when things went wrong, my soul turned inside out. I cried rivers, I spent so many nights awake… I just kept telling myself, ‘Let the sky fall, as long as he’s alive, everything will be okay.’” For a moment, the old man closed his eyes, then squeezed her hand. — “Is that it? And I was even angry at you for it. Forgive me, Sasha. I never knew. All my life and I never really thought about you… the fool I am.” The old woman brushed a tear from her wrinkled cheek and bent low over her husband’s face. — “Johnny, don’t you worry…” She paused, looked deep into his eyes, and slowly rested her head on his quiet chest, gently caressing his cooling hand. — “Everything WAS okay, Johnny, everything WAS okay…”

📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic