**Diary Entry October 12th**
Its bad. So bad, bitter, aching, and just plain unfair.
No tears left to cry.
Why? Why did he do this to me?
Seven yearsseven happy years.
Hand in hand, never a harsh word, and then just like that, hes gone. No, not gone. Ran away, like a coward.
The phone wont stop ringing. Who on earth? Mum.
“Hello, love sweetheart, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, Mum.” I force my voice steady.
“Good, good. Youre not crying over that fool, are you? Not worth the tears.” She chuckles at her own joke. “Listen, I wanted to invite you to the cottage this Friday. Aunt Marthas bringing her nephew, Simonlovely lad, really. Lifes been hard on him. His ex-wife was dreadful. Thank heavens hes rid of her.”
“Did he strangle her?”
“What? Who strangled who?”
“Well, you said he got rid of her.”
“Goodness, what a dark joke. But its good youre laughing, love. Laughter helps. Remember when Keith Mitchell left me? I told you about him, didnt I? We met at music schoolme on the cello, him on the French horn. Sweet lad, bright-eyed, blond curls I adored him. And thenthe rotterran off with that clarinetist, Natalie. Oh, I wept for days. Even skipped lessons to wander the Thames, wallowing. Nearly threw myself in once”
“Mum I cant talk right now.”
“Alright, love. But youll come Friday, wont you? Promise me.”
“Ill try.”
“No, Lottie, thats not an answer. Promise.”
“Fine. Ill come. Briefly.”
“Good. Dad sends his love tooyes, Michael, I told her! Lottie, darling, were here for you”
I curl under the duvet, lights off. No tears left. Just one question: *Why?*
The phone again. My sister. If I dont answer, shell rally the troops.
“Hey.”
“Sis, are you crying?”
“No. Why would I cry? My husband just left me, thats all. The man I planned to have children with. The man who”
“Honestly, moping over that git? When Danny dumped me, I thought Id die. Remember him? Gorgeous, six months together, head over heels Look at me now! Anyway, were camping this weekendcouples only. Wills just divorced, decent bloke. Maybe youll hit it off. And your ex? Never liked him.”
“Tasha, Ill think about it.”
“Think hard, Lotts”
Cold. Aching. Eyes swollen shut.
Another call. Gran.
“Hello?”
“Lottie, darling! Come over. Ill make your favourite scones, hot cocoa even a wee dram, eh? Grandads at the allotmentjust us girls. I know how you feel. When Nigel Sparrow left me, I took up smoking! Briefly. Then your grandad swept me off my feet”
“Ill think about it, Gran.”
All day, calls poured ineveryone sharing their own heartbreak tales.
By evening, exhaustion won. Thenknocking. Relentless.
I dragged myself to the door. No one there. Just a grumpy voice: “Move aside, then! Some thanks for helping!”
I looked down.
Good Lordwhat?
A procession filed in
“Uh who are you?”
“Cant you tell? Were cats.”
“Wh-what cats?”
“The helpful sort. Now shut the door before you catch cold.”
Meet the *Whisker* family.
“Mum, check her forehead!”
“Son, pulse! Daughter, put the kettle on!”
I sat, dazed, as they scurried about.
“Granny Whisker, she needs a story!”
*”Purrrr, let the bad fade, the good come”*
“Papa Whisker, tuck her in! Auntie, fluff the pillow!”
I barely registered tiny Whisker Jr. snapping selfies on my phone before they massaged my hands and feet. Sleep took me to the sound of padding paws.
Morning brought odd relief. No catsjust a dream, then.
But outside a mewl.
Alone on the step: Whisker Jr.
“Wheres your family?” I scooped him up. No answerjust a pitiful squeak.
Off to the cottage we went.
At the station, a lost bloke asked directionsSimon, as it turned out. He carried my bag. By the time we reached Sunnybrook, we were laughing like old mates.
“Lottie, youve been stroking something under your coat all day. Not expecting, are you?”
“Meet my son.” I revealed the kitten.
“Whisker? Seriously?”
“Got a problem with his surname?”
“None at all.” He grinned. “Maximilian Theodore Whisker.”
When his aunt and my parents appeared, we were in stitcheskitten tilting his head between us.
***
Now, a grey tom glares from the windowsill. *”Disgraceful. Dragging a two-month-old outdoors”*
Once, he was small too.
Lottie still wonders how Whisker Jr. took that photo. She thinks it was a dream.
But when her ex showed upchampagne in hand, begging forgivenessthe tom hissed, *”Scram. And stay away from our Lottie.”* Then well, lets just say the bloke left with a damp shoe.
**Lesson learned:** Sometimes help comes on four paws. And new beginnings? Theyre just a whisker away.
*Fin.*
