Just as I was deciding what to do, a knock came at the door. A policeman stood outside beside our sharp-eyed neighbor, Mrs. Miller. “Do you have a cat?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said nervously. “Is something wrong?”
He smiled gently. “Not at all. We’ve been looking for a missing litter. A dog at a nearby farm gave birth a few days ago, but before the owner could move them to safety, a stray cat began carrying them off — one by one. It looks like your Marsa brought them here.”
The truth hit me like a wave. Marsa hadn’t been stealing — she’d been rescuing. Months earlier, she had lost her own kittens, and now she was mothering these puppies as if they were hers. Even Mrs. Miller, usually the first to complain, softened as the officer peeked into the basket. “She’s been keeping them warm,” he said with a smile.
Later that afternoon, the farmer arrived to reclaim the puppies. Marsa followed him to the door, meowing softly, as if saying goodbye. Watching her, I felt something shift inside me. Her heart, small but fierce, had shown me a truth that words can barely capture — that love doesn’t ask who or what you are. It simply gives, protects, and heals — one tiny heartbeat at a time.
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