One fine day, my friend decided to marry. For love, of course. His bride was lovelyclever, self-reliant, and working as an accountant for a prominent firm, earning a tidy sum.
Edward, my friend, refused to lag behind in matters of income. He took on extra shifts, labouring late into the night to pay off the mortgage on their flat sooner.
The flat was bought swiftly. They pooled their savings, took out a loan, and family chipped in. They renovated it in a chic, continental style, tastefully decorated, as if to say, *heres where happiness lives.*
Yet happiness eluded them. His wife couldnt manage the houseworkeither she didnt know how to mop, dust, or prepare supper on time, or she simply wouldnt. She claimed exhaustion, returning late from work. Fair enough, but Edward was no layabout either. He burned the midnight oil too.
Quarrels erupted over who did more at home. The first six months passed in daily skirmishesclothes strewn about, dishes piled high. Neither confessed the true reason to their families. Pride held their tongues.
One afternoon, Edward went fishing with his father-in-law, a shared passion that bound them. By the fire that evening, with a pint in hand, Edward unburdened himself, extracting a promise of secrecyespecially from his mother-in-law.
The old man swore silence but remarked, *”Your home wont know peace without a house guardian. Ive one in mind. When time allows, Ill persuade it to move in.”*
Edward thought him mad but held his tongue.
The following week, his father-in-law arrived with a kitten. Edward bristledmore mess! But the old man beckoned him onto the balcony for a smoke, murmuring of the *”house guardian”* hed brought along. *”Treat her well,”* he insisted.
Edward adored the creature at oncetiny, affectionate, clinging to him like a shadow. Only once did he clean a little *”accident”* on the floor. Just that night.
Next evening, he returned to a spotless home. No laundry mountains, no disheshis wife was cooking a splendid roast!
Spirits lifted, Edward finally fixed the bathroom shelf hed long neglected.
The next day, he found her vacuuming. Inspired, he took out the bins, fetched bread, and even bought a bottle of Bordeaux. Dinner felt like a celebration. When had they last done this?
The week rolled on in bliss. Joy, it seemed, had moved back in.
Come Sunday night, his wife said, *”Tomorrow, no need to pop home at lunch. Ive bought litter and set up a spot in the loo.”*
*”For whom?”*
*”Your kitten. I know youve been sneaking home to tidy. But dont fretIve got it sorted.”*
Edward was stunned. *He* hadnt been cleaning. He thought *she* had. Was she ashamed of idling in a tidy house?
At noon, he feigned departure, then crept back, phone in hand.
Keys jingled. The kitten darted forth, mewing welcome. A soft voice cooed, *”Oh, Whiskers! Missed you! Brought milk and a fresh treat. Learned to use the tray, have you?”*
The bedroom door creaked open. His father-in-law froze.
*”So this is your house guardian!”*
The old man flushed. *”Well, I gave you the cat. Thought Id help care for her, at first.”*
*”And the key?”*
*”Nicked it from your ring when we fished, had a copy made. Slipped it back next day…”*
Three years on, Edward and his wife live happily, with a child now. To this day, none know who the true *”house guardian”* ever was.
