Generosity
Amelia and Emily grew up in a respectable family in London, Amelia being the elder sister and Emily the younger. Their parents raised them with equal love and affection, yet their personalities couldn’t have been more different.
From childhood, Amelia couldn’t walk past a stray cat or dog without bringing it home.
«Amelia, why on earth have you dragged in that filthy kitten?» her mother would scold.
«Mum, its paw is hurt—it’s limping. Please, let me keep it. I’ll look after it,» she’d plead.
Most children outgrow such phases, but Amelia never did.
Some people are born with hearts so soft they border on saintly. Amelia was one of them. Others grow callous with age, or pickier, but for her, compassion became a lifelong habit.
As the sisters grew, Amelia’s flat remained a chaotic haven for cats—bowls of kibble on the kitchen counter, litter trays in the bathroom, the occasional knocked-over vase.
«Mum, they don’t know any better—they’re just animals,» she’d insist.
Arguing was pointless. After school, she enrolled in veterinary college—no surprise to anyone. It was her calling.
«Amelia, with all these cats, you’ll never find a husband. What man would put up with the mess, the smells, the feedings?» her mother fretted. Emily agreed.
«Someone will,» Amelia retorted. «Not everyone’s as hard-hearted as you.»
Eventually, she moved into her late grandmother’s flat in Brighton, inherited specifically for her—likely because Gran knew the animals needed space.
«Mum, I’m so happy! The cats get one room, and I get the other.»
«Amelia, you’re missing out on life. It’ll pass you by,» her mother worried, fearing her daughter would never find love.
Years slipped away. Emily graduated university. Then, out of the blue, Amelia announced she was visiting—with company.
«God knows what creature she’s bringing this time,» her parents muttered. «Probably a stray the size of a horse.»
That evening, the doorbell rang. Her father opened it to find Amelia—and a man.
«Meet Oliver,» she beamed. Her mother burst into happy tears, fluttering about. «Come in, come in! We’re thrilled!»
Over dinner, her mother pressed for details.
«We met at a veterinary conference. Sat next to each other, got talking. Just… clicked,» Amelia gushed. Oliver nodded, smiling.
He was serious, kind, and just as animal-mad as Amelia. They moved in together, turning one room into a makeshift shelter. Oliver adored cats as much as she did.
They married quietly—no lavish wedding, their savings spent on pet food and medicine. Their fridge was stocked with feline antibiotics.
«Darling, you didn’t even tell us! We’d have thrown a little party,» her mother sighed, half-offended.
Later, relatives pooled money for a gift, congratulating the newlyweds. Three years passed. Amelia wasn’t ready for children.
«Later, Mum. Let us sort out the cats first,» she promised.
Then life intervened. Oliver died suddenly—a heart attack in his prime. He’d felt unwell but blamed work stress. Between the clinic and their menagerie, he’d pushed himself too hard.
Amelia was shattered. Her family rallied around her. Emily, noticing her sister’s silent collapse, visited daily. One day, she found the flat in disarray—litter trays overflowing.
«Amelia, what’s going on? This isn’t like you.»
«I’ll clean it later,» Amelia mumbled.
Emily helped, baffled. Amelia had never neglected her animals. Then came the confession: Amelia had started feeding homeless people.
Emily tensed. «Some of them are dangerous. You can’t trust strangers.» But she couldn’t watch her sister every second.
Then Amelia began smiling again. Her mother rejoiced. «Thank goodness. Some never recover from such a loss.»
Then the neighbour complained about a foul smell—and a «tramp» visiting Amelia’s flat. Emily confronted her.
«There’s an old man I’ve been helping. He lost his home to fraudsters. He’s like a father to me. I let him shower here, gave him some of Oliver’s things.»
«Amelia! Inviting him inside? What if he steals from you?»
«What’s there to steal? I’ve got nothing but cats,» she scoffed.
Winter came. The man stayed five days—then vanished. So did the fridge, the telly, the dresser. Even Oliver’s clothes were gone.
Amelia asked the neighbour, «Did you see who took them?»
«Sorry, love. No idea.»
She was relieved the volunteers’ donations for cat food were safe at the clinic.
Emily was aghast. «You didn’t report it to the police?»
«No. My cats are still here. That’s all that matters.»
«Amelia! Who’d steal cats? They took everything!»
«You wouldn’t understand. Only Oliver did. And he’s gone.»
At least now she avoided homeless strangers. Relatives replaced the stolen items. But the cats stayed. «They’re my purpose,» she said.
Perhaps she was right. Who else would nurse sick animals? It takes pathological generosity—and Amelia had it. Her family hoped she’d find another Oliver someday. Until then, the cats remained her world.