Ive got a wild little tale for you, so settle in. Early one crisp morning a baby was left on the doorstep of the village maternity ward in Ashford, and the first person to spot the little bundle was the groundskeeper, Uncle Geoff. Geoff was the sort of bloke who rose before the rooster, took his duties seriously, and treated the grounds like his own gardensomething hed picked up from his old life as an accountant. When he retired he couldnt sit still, so he swapped the ledger for a broom, not for the paycheck but because he needed something to do.
He saw a plain cardboard box on the step and, even though it was dead silent, he instantly guessed there was a child inside. He peeked in, confirmed his hunch, and hurried to bang on the hospital doors. All he could pray for was that the baby was alright, because the little one was unusually quiet. To everyones relief Geoff, the nurses, the midwives the infant was breathing, pink and perfectly healthy.
Ashford is one of those tightknit English towns where everybody knows everybody, so it didnt take long to wonder who the mother might be. All eyes fell on Molly Whitlow, a local who seemed to be handing out children to the state almost every year. She never booked antenatal appointments and never showed up at the hospital. After a proper little inquiry, though, it turned out Molly had nothing to do with this particular dropoff.
The baby was whisked off to the nearby baby haven the Little Sprouts Nursery just a short walk from town. As soon as the nurses unfolded the tiny bundle, one of them laughed, Look at that little watermelon! Whod leave a wee sprout on the doorstep like that? No one could explain it, but the nickname stuck. He was called Melon for a while because he was such a sturdy, happy little thing.
Uncle Geoff, ever the helpful sort, suggested a proper name. He settled on Glen, and the name stuck, though Melon lingered in the nurserys halls. Not long after, a foster family stepped forward and took Glen in. Everyone was over the moon, especially Mrs. Allen, the head of Little Sprouts, who had a soft spot for the boy.
Three years later, surprise after surprise the foster familys own baby arrived, and Glen was suddenly no longer needed. He was taken back to the nursery, looking a touch slimmer but still bright, quickwitted and ahead of his years. It was clear someone had been looking after him, yet no one could fathom why the family let him go so easily. The staffs hearts broke watching him cry for a mum, a dad, a grandma that never came, staring long at the window hoping for a miracle.
Summer rolled in and Glen spent most of his time outdoors, a bit more withdrawn, playing alone in quiet corners. Then a scruffy orange cat showed up at the nursery about a year earlier. The rules said no pets, so Mrs. Allen tried to get rid of the intruder. She handed the cat to the kitchen lady, Aunt Jenny, who tried to take it home, but the feline kept slipping back into the nursery like a seasoned escape artist. Jenny tried five times; each time the cat, now dubbed Moggy because he was always meddling, would return with cheeky persistence.
Moggy was clever, sneaking into Jennys bag when she left for work and trailing behind her, even though she swore shed keep him out. Her nieces kept having to open the door for him, so they started calling him Moggy the Mocker. Eventually Mrs. Allen gave up, watching the cat perch on the roof of the gatehouse, never bothering the children, and finally decided he was harmless enough to stay. He became Glens unexpected confidant, and after they became mates, Glens shy shell cracked a little. He smiled more, shared his toys, and even started bringing little gifts a dead mouse here, a stray feather there.
One day Mrs. Allen, worried about Moggys health, slipped him into a carrier and took him to the vet. Glen didnt even notice his friend disappear, but Moggy seemed to hold a grudge against Mrs. Allen ever since, refusing any treats she offers.
Around that time a couple, Claire and Simon, came to the nursery. They already had a daughter but wanted to give a lonely child a loving home. They were warm, genuine folk, and they fell for Glen straight away. When they learned his little history abandoned, returned, nicknamed Melon they were determined to adopt him. Glen, for his part, instantly warmed to Claire and Simon, feeling a strange pull toward them.
When the day came for the adoption, a surprising twist unfolded. Simons dad, Paul, recognised Uncle Geoffs voice as he stood by the car. Geoff, still chuckling, lifted Glen onto his knee and said, Well, look at you, lad! Turns out weve known each other forever. I even gave you your name! They say the Lord works in mysterious ways youre my own little grandson now, a bit lost but loved. Granddad will make up for the time we missed! Glen just smiled and nodded, bewildered but happy.
Claire, Simon, and their families were stunned by the coincidence, yet overjoyed. As they said goodbye to the nursery staff and headed to the car, Glen suddenly burst into tears. Claire rushed to soothe him, baffled by his sudden upset. Mrs. Allen, watching from the doorway, explained that Moggy had been sitting on a windowsill, looking forlorn, and that the kittens sadness had rubbed off on Glen.
So, that evening, the Clarke family grew by two: a bright, cheeky boy named Glen and his evermischievous cat, Moggy. Theyve settled into their new home, and Glens laughter fills the house, with Moggy occasionally presenting gifts that earn him a gentle swat from Aunt Jenny whenever she visits. Its a happy ending, or at least a promising new chapter, for everyone involved.
