After my cat had brought home puppies from who knows where, a knock came at the door. The words that followed sent chills down my spine…

That evening had started off quietly. I was folding laundry when suddenly, I heard Lily scream from the living room:
“Mom! She’s got something in her mouth again!”

“Who?” I froze.

“Misty! A puppy! Another one!”

I rushed to the window and couldn’t believe my eyes. My tabby cat was crossing the yard, carrying in her mouth a tiny black bundle.

In the corner of the room, in a wicker basket, there were already four other little ones, their eyes still shut, their bodies warm and velvety.

Misty gently laid the new arrival down with the others, licked it tenderly, and curled herself around them as if to shield them from the entire world.

I couldn’t understand it. Where was she finding these puppies? And why was she bringing them home one by one?

Later that day, there was a loud knock on the door—so hard the glass in the frame rattled.

I froze, and Lily clung to my hand, as if she sensed something bad was about to happen.

When I opened the door, I found a police officer standing there with Mrs. Miller, our neighbor—the one who always noticed everything and everyone. Her face was darker than a storm cloud.

“You have a cat?” the officer asked, skipping any kind of greeting.

“Yes…” I answered cautiously. “Why? Has something happened?”

He studied me for a long moment, then said gently:
“In that case… you’d better sit down.”

I didn’t yet know what I was about to hear, but a cold shiver ran down my back, and my heart skipped a beat.

I sat automatically on the edge of the couch, the cup of cold tea in my hands chilling my fingers. Lily nestled close to me, and Misty, as though she knew this conversation was about her, slowly walked out of the kitchen and sat directly in front of the officer, staring at him with her steady green eyes.

“This morning,” he began, “we found an empty doghouse in the neighbor’s yard. The puppies were gone.”

“So what?..” My voice trembled, betraying my unease.

“The owner says she saw your cat carrying them off, one by one.” He paused, as if searching for the right words.

The neighbor sighed and, lowering her eyes, added:

“Those puppies… they’re mine. Their mother died this morning. And your Misty…”

I looked at my cat in bewilderment. She was purring softly, pulling the puppies closer between her paws.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” I said. “She must have done it because she still felt the need to be a mother, even though we had already found other homes for the puppies. I’ll give them back to you.”

Mrs. Miller stood watching the peaceful scene for a moment—Misty licking the little ones tenderly and guarding them like a devoted mother. Then she said quietly:

“Let them stay here. I think… it’ll be better for everyone.”

I nodded, and Misty, as if she understood every word, pulled her new babies even closer to her.