The relatives wasted no timethey simply set the box of kittens out on the street. Corgi followed them silently, refusing point-blank to return to the empty flat. To him, that home meant nothing now.
The dog, lovingly called Corgi by his elderly owner, wasnt actually a corgi at all. From a distance, he resembled those short-legged, comical little dogs, but up close, he was a proper muttred fur, stubby legs, and a tail that wagged incessantly whenever he met someone.
Corgi was unnaturally sociable, endlessly curious, and preternaturally kind. In the local park where his owner took him for walks, hed earned the nickname “Gods own nuisance”and for good reason. The moment his lead came off, hed plunge into the crowd, desperate to befriend every dog and human in sight. Running, playing, making friendsthat was his true purpose.
Other dog owners, spotting him from afar, would often turn heel and leave. Their own pets couldnt resist his boundless cheer, refusing to come back once theyd met him. The owners would have to call their dogs back, waving, shouting, even brandishing sticks to shoo Corgi away.
But he never took offencehe didnt even know the meaning of the word.
His old master, however, would grow quiet and sad when he saw people trying to chase off his beloved pet. Sometimes hed step in, but Corgi always seemed to understandhed tug at the mans trouser leg, pull him away, then curl up in his lap, licking his hands, his face, until everything was right again.
One afternoon, while the old man dozed on a park bench, Corgias usualwas off exploring. When the man woke, he found not just the dog beside him, but a cat as well. A ginger, whiskered creature sat staring at him, unblinking.
“Made a new friend, have you?” he asked, surprised.
Corgi wagged his tail, licked his owners hand, then the catsbefore settling between them. The cat, no fool, took the offered scrapsa bit of chicken, a few dog biscuits. It was clear she wasnt pampered.
When the man stood to leave, Corgi planted himself firmly beside his new companion.
“Whats this now?” the old man huffed.
But Corgi made it plainno cat, no going home. The man sighed.
“Weve got enough trouble as it is.”
But he had no choice. “Alright, you scruffy thingif hes chosen you, come on then. Might liven the place up.”
Later, they discovered the “cat” was actually a she. Within months, three fluffy kittens appeared in the flat. Corgi was overjoyedhe watched over them, played with them, even napped with them while Whiskers (as the old man had named her) perched on the windowsill, eyeing the street below.
Life settled. The old man stocked up on supplies for his new family and spent hours reading up on cats and dogs online. The neighbours laughed at first, then softenedevery morning, theyd see him walking his odd little troupe: Corgi, Whiskers, and the three kittens.
The park gave way to the courtyardcloser, safer. Now, neighbours stopped to chat, some even joining him on the bench. Corgi, Whiskers, and the kittens were happy.
Then, the unthinkable. One sunny weekend, as the courtyard buzzed with life, Corgi let out a sharp whine. Everyone rushed over.
The old man sat on the bench, slightly slumped. A faint smile lingered on his face as he looked at his little friendsbut his eyes were empty.
For days, neighbours fed the animals. Then distant relatives arrived. They were the ones who carried the box of kittens and Whiskers out to the street. Corgi followed. The home that no longer held his beloved master meant nothing to him now.
The neighbours watched sadly, but none could take in all five. So they stayed by the benchCorgi, Whiskers, and the three kittens.
Autumn rains came, cold and unkind. Whiskers shielded the kittens with her body, and Corgi, without hesitation, draped himself over them for warmth.
It was the crotchety old woman from the first floor who cracked first. She stormed out in her dressing gown, cursing the world, scooped up the kittens, clutched Whiskers to her chest, and barked at Corgi:
“Come on then, home with younow!”
The dog trotted obediently after her, tail wagging.
Now the whole lot walked with heror her grandchildren did, when they werent “busy.” And somehow, the old woman became the heart of the building. Neighbours began leaving pies, sausages, all sorts of treatsmostly for the little ones. Shed grumble, but more often, shed secretly wipe her eyes.
Then one day, the caretaker dropped by. He drank tea, made small talk. As he left, the old woman called out:
“Oi! You left your envelope! Its full of money!”
He paused. “Didnt forget a thing. Thats for you. From the whole building. However much folks could spare. Dont refuse, eh?”
She froze. Then, surprising even herself, she kissed his cheek. The caretaker walked offforgot the lift, muttering to himself all the way up.
“Well?” his wife asked at home. “Did she take it?”
“Course,” he grinned. “Told her it was from everyone.”
“Good,” she nodded. “Weve got enough. Her, with three grandkids alone… Tell you whattake her some every month. Ill sort it through my mate at social services, make it look like benefits…”
The old woman, still outside, heard every word. She covered her mouth, crying silently. Then she went inside, paused in the doorway, and said to Corgi:
“See, love… Sometimes a lie can be a blessing.”
Corgi nuzzled her. Whiskers rubbed against her hand. She stroked them, whispering:
“Thank you. Not for me. For the grandkids.”
That was it. Or perhaps not. The old woman raised all three grandchildren. Married off two. 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.
