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?”