I thought my grandma was joking when she first said it.

“I’m leaving everything to Whiskers,” she muttered, scratching behind his ears as he lounged in her lap like a spoiled king.

I laughed. “Come on, Grandma, don’t be ridiculous.”

She didn’t laugh back.

“You kids only show up when it’s convenient. Whiskers is here every day.”

I knew she wanted us to visit more, but life got busy. Work, kids, responsibilities—we always figured next week would be a better time. But next week turned into next month. And now, apparently, she’d made up her mind.

I tried to reason with her. “Grandma, we love you. We’re just—”

She cut me off. “Too busy. I know. But I wasn’t too busy when I raised you, was I?”

That hit hard.

I glanced at my brother, Ethan, who shifted uncomfortably on the floral couch. He had the same guilty expression I did.

“Grandma,” he tried, “we don’t want your money. We just—”

“Then it won’t be a problem if Whiskers gets it all.”

She folded her arms, the tiny orange cat purring in victory.

Over the next few weeks, the news spread through the family like wildfire. My aunt was furious, my cousins panicked, and my mother tried to mediate, but Grandma wouldn’t budge.

“I’ve already spoken to my lawyer,” she announced one Sunday when we finally all gathered at her house. “It’s done.”

Aunt Linda scoffed. “You can’t be serious, Mother. A cat? You’d leave your house and savings to a cat?”

Grandma raised a brow. “At least Whiskers appreciates me.”

The room fell silent.

Ethan, who usually avoided confrontation, cleared his throat. “Grandma, I—We know we haven’t been around as much as we should. And you’re right. You were always there for us. But maybe…instead of cutting us out, you could give us a chance to make things right?”

She stared at him for a long moment. “And what makes you think I should believe you?”

I spoke up. “Because we’re here now. And we’re not going to let it be another ‘next time.’”

We started visiting more. Not because of the inheritance—but because the guilt gnawed at us. We helped her with groceries, fixed things around the house, and spent Sundays playing cards and listening to her stories. And the more we visited, the more we realized how lonely she’d been.

Whiskers still gave us judgmental glares from Grandma’s lap, but over time, even he seemed to accept our presence.

A few months later, on one particularly cold evening, Grandma called us over. We rushed in, thinking something was wrong, but she just smiled at us from her armchair.

“Well,” she said, setting down her tea, “Whiskers and I had a chat.”

Ethan and I exchanged a glance.

“He agreed that maybe you kids aren’t so bad.”

I exhaled a laugh. “That’s good to know.”

She gave us a pointed look. “So I changed my will. You don’t deserve an inheritance just because you’re family. But I also realized you don’t deserve to be cut out just because you made mistakes. None of us are perfect.”

We let out a collective sigh of relief, but she wasn’t done.

“However,” she continued, eyes twinkling, “Whiskers is still getting a trust fund.”

Ethan burst out laughing. “You’re joking.”

Grandma smirked. “You’ll have to visit to make sure he’s living a comfortable life.”

And that’s how we learned our lesson the karmic way. Because in the end, it wasn’t about the money. It was about the time we almost lost—and the love we were lucky enough to get back.

Don’t wait until it’s too late to show someone you care. Money comes and goes, but family—if you’re lucky—will always be there.

If you’ve ever had a moment where you realized you needed to be there more for someone you love, share this story with your friends. Let’s remind each other to make time before it’s too late.