One quiet evening, I was folding laundry when my daughter cried out, “Mom! Marsa has something in her mouth again!”
I rushed in—and froze. Our cat was carrying a tiny puppy. In the corner basket, four more were already snuggled together. One by one, she had brought them home, curling around them like her own kittens.
The next day, a policeman knocked, with our neighbor Mrs. Miller beside him. He explained a nearby doghouse was found empty and someone saw our cat carrying the puppies away.
Mrs. Miller’s eyes filled. “They’re mine,” she said softly. “Their mother died this morning.”
I offered to return them, but she shook her head. Watching Marsa purr and guard the little ones, she whispered, “Let them stay. She needs them, and they need her.”
And so, Marsa became a mother in her own way.
