Emily Thompson watched in a hazy twilight as her angryfaced fiancé, James Clarke, struck Maggie, the little dachshund that had accidentally stepped a muddy paw onto his pristine white trainers. Bullet, the terrier who loved to intervene, felt the leather leash snap against its snout like a sudden thunderclap. In that moment the reason her cats and dogs despised James became crystal clear.
Emily sat by the sashwindow, the night outside turning a cold, silver blue. The street lamps flickered on in the rows of terraced houses, yet she felt indifferent to light or darkness. She had a modest flat in Manchester, a steady job at the local NHS clinic, and a life that seemed respectable, but love always slipped through her fingers like sand.
All her schoolmates were already married, cradling toddlers, while she wandered the streets alone, wondering if she was doomed to remain the perpetual spinster. What makes me any different? she thought, glancing at her flock of furry companions, whose soft eyes followed her from every corner.
Her parents had both died early, one after the other, leaving her in the care of her grandmother, who had insisted Emily become a doctor. Emily failed the university entrance exam, settled for a diploma in emergency care, and now spent long shifts on the ambulance crews. Grandmother Joan had moved to a suburban bungalow, hoping Emily might finally have room for a proper love life, but fate kept turning the knob the wrong way.
As a child Emily dreamed of a cat and a dog, but her mother was allergic to fur. The allergy revealed itself the day a brighteyed teenager brought home a sprightly kitten; her mothers asthma flared as if the kitten had turned the house into a storm. The kitten, named Biscuit, was handed over to Grandma Joan.
When the parents were gone, another stray, a sootblack cat named Tibbles, appeared near the back alley. Emily longed for a dog, but Grandma Joan feared the added responsibility.
Now her household comprised five loyal companions, without whom the world felt as if it were missing a limb. Bullet had been found shivering beside a frozen supermarket, a gaunt pup trying to slip into the warmth of a store entrance, only to be chased away by stern security. Emily slipped the trembling creature into her coat pocket and hurried home.
Bullet was a swift, energetic girl, darting about like a jet plane, which earned her the nickname Bullet. She bonded instantly with Tibbles.
Soon a tiny dachshund named Maggie arrived, abandoned by neighbours who moved to a new flat and declared the dog would ruin their freshly painted walls and sleek furniture. They left her trembling in the frostbitten courtyard. The limping little dog, clever and determined, prowled the doorway for a week, whining until Emily learned of her plight from local dogwalkers. Emily rescued Maggie, nursing her chilled ears back to health. Maggie proved the perfect house petcalm, sensible, and industrious, like a wise old aunt.
When cold days forced Maggie to stride outside, Emily wrapped her in a warm knitted scarf. The scarf made Maggie look like a tiny, dignified soldier marching through the snow.
One early morning, hurrying to her night shift, Emily stepped onto the pavement and was nearly trampled by a rolling snowball that turned out to be a famished, frostbitten cat. She scooped the cat into the stairwell, fed it two cheeseandham sandwiches, and left a note on the hallway wall: Please dont shoo this cat away! Ill collect it after my shift. Emily, flat 15.
She named the feline Nicola, after her own middle name, and the cat accepted it with regal dignity. Nicola grew into a large, commanding queen of the house, her paws patrolling every corner, ensuring everything stayed spotless. Even at night she would stride through the hallway, inspecting every nook as if the house were a museum.
Later, a tiny, shy kitten named Milo appeared in the park, almost snatched by two crows. Emily rescued him; he grew into a quiet, unassuming cat who never fought, always agreeing with everyone.
Emilys grandmother warned her, Oh, dear, you have two dogs and three catspeople might find that a bit much, love. Not everyone likes a house full of animals, especially the younger folk who fear extra hassle.
Emily answered, Then perhaps Im not meant for a man who cant handle them.
She had once dated Alex Harper, a paramedic she met during a night shift. Their halfyear romance ended when Alex confessed he could not stand pets. Emily felt little loss.
Later Max Bennett, a charismatic swimming champion, entered her life. He was charming, helped walk Bullet and Maggie, and seemed weddingready. Yet the animals began to avoid him: Bullet snapped at him, Maggie hid behind Emily and barked, the cats hissed, and Nicola would not let him near.
One evening, as Emily prepared dinner, she stepped onto the balcony and saw Max, his face twisted in anger, stomp his foot on Maggies muddy paw, while Bullet tried to protect the dachshund only to receive a harsh smack from his leather leash. Emily rushed to the courtyard, seized the leash from the smiling bridetobe, and wrapped it around his wrist with a swift, silent pull.
Emily, what are you doing? It hurts! he shouted.
She replied, You hurt them, you hurt me. If you cant be gentle, you have no place in my home.
Max laughed cruelly, A zoo you call a home, then. Good luck feeding the freeloaders!
The words echoed in Emilys mind long after Max stormed away. She had convinced herself that Max was her destiny, never truly seeing the hollowness behind his grin.
A year later, almost resigned to solitude, Emily fell deeply in love with Dr. Alexander Whitaker, a trauma surgeon who saved a crash victim one night while Emily was on duty. Their eyes met over a chart, and a electric jolt ran through her. She had never believed in love at first sight, assuming it belonged only to novels and cinema, but this time she was wrong.
Alexander, using his hospital contacts, obtained Emilys number and called the next evening. They began dating, and his quiet, serious demeanor convinced her he was serious. Yet she feared his reaction to her animal menagerie, so she kept them hidden, promising herself she would reveal everything before marriage.
Six months later Alexander introduced Emily to his sister, Sarah, and her husband. They drove in Alexanders old Ford to meet his parents in the countryside, where Emily also met Grandma Joan. Emily visited Alexanders tidy bachelor flat often, but the excuses about relatives catching the flu grew thin. She knew she had to choose: confess the pets or continue the deception.
She finally decided. She gathered all her animals and, with a suitcase of pet supplies, took them to Grandma Joans cottage. Bullet and Maggie have been staying with me, the cats adore the attic, and Biscuit is still around, Emily explained. Grandma Joan frowned, Emily, you cant start a marriage with lies.
Emily pleaded, I cant live without them, and I fear hell leave if I give them up.
Grandma Joan relented, Fine, but you must visit every day when youre not at work. This wont end well.
Each day Emily, longing, visited her furry brigade. Alexanders doubts faded, and he proposed with a sapphireset heartshaped ring. I have no dowry to speak of, Emily laughed, but I have love.
The wedding plans swirled like a storm of invitations, dress fittings, and restaurant bookings. After a night shift, Emily called Grandma Joan, promising to be home by evening to buy her dress and finalize the menu.
The exhausted bride and groom finally arrived at Emilys flat after lunch, hurriedly counting guests and sipping tea with scones. The next morning, Alexander tried to toss an empty box into the trash, but it was jammed with pet food packs. Where did these come from? he asked. Never mind, Ill explain later, Emily replied, diverting the conversation.
Meanwhile, Grandma Joan let Bullet and Maggie out to play in the freshly fallen snow. A postal worker, delivering a pensioners letter, hurried inside, leaving the gate ajar. Nicola, Tibbles, and Milo slipped out, while Biscuit stayed home. The animals formed a merry parade, Bullet leading, Nicola directing, and Maggies scarf fluttering like a banner.
Passersby stared at the procession crossing the road, amused by the disciplined chaos. Bullet remembered the route perfectly, guiding the pack home to Emilys flat.
Alexander heard the clatter at his door and opened it to find a dignified dachshund in a red jumper, followed by a plump Labrador and a flotilla of cats, all dusted with snow.
What on earth is this? he blurted.
Emily stumbled into the hallway, covering her face with her hands, sinking onto the shoe rack, tears silent on her cheeks. All of them? she whispered.
Yes, they were at my grandmothers, Alexander said, bewildered.
Bullet and Maggie lunged at him, while Nicola hissed threateningly. You said you had no dowry, Alexander muttered, pulling on his coat and walking out.
Emily called Grandma Joan, trying to soothe her worry. There wont be a wedding, she thought, clutching her animals, feeling the emptiness of her deception. Her face swelled with tears.
Hours later, a knock sounded. Alexander stood at the door, a sack of premium pet food in his hands, smiling. Dont close the door, Im coming in, he said.
Moments after, he entered holding a dachshund in a tiny red overall. This is my dog Nika, and thats Marry, he introduced a ginger cat hidden under his jacket, They were with Sarahs family. Will they join your pack?
Years passed, and Emily Thompson and Alexander Whitaker often laughed about that surreal night. Who knows what might have been, had there been no dowry, or perhaps, had the dream never been dreamt.
