It was a difficult Mother’s Day. I was going through a deeply stressful time at work, my husband was working away, and I wasn’t able to see three of my children. My youngest, who lived locally, popped in but couldn’t stay long. I felt horribly sad and alone. 

I was sitting there, feeling sorry for myself, when I heard a strange noise. It sounded like a bird in distress so I ventured outside to rescue whatever it was. The noise stopped but I waited near a bush where I thought it had come from. Sure enough, the noise began again. However, this time I recognised it as more of a mewling. I watched and waited, and a wobbly little kitten came into view. 

I managed to grab hold of him and take him indoors, and instantly fell in love. Not so the older ginger cat who hissed and stamped at the little furry bundle. I took the kitten into a separate room and watched him scamper about. I knew he must belong to someone who was probably missing him desperately and so reluctantly took him to the local RSPCA. They encouraged me to keep him, if no-one came forward, but I explained about the older cat. 

When I asked what would happen to the kitten if no-one claimed him, the workers wouldn’t meet my gaze. Already emotional, I begged them not to destroy the little cat. They said they would have him desexed and for me to consider adopting him.  

When I phoned my husband and kids that evening, they all urged me to go back and get him, saying there was a reason he’d appeared on Mother’s Day. I agreed: he needed a mum to look after him, and I needed a baby to love.  

I picked him up from the RSPCA a few days later and my stripy boy has been my shadow ever since.