We are always looking for the next great writer to publish as part of our + membership program. Here's our latest selected submission:
Too cold to go any further, the thin, shivering figure, empty of stomach and spirit, slowly and silently crept hopefully into an unfamiliar world of luxurious warmth.
No one had noticed the bedraggled figure that had stolen her way inside the richly furnished rooms as she warily made her way along the wall. She quietly slid her tired body between a pair of heavy, crimson velvet drapes that were half-drawn against the chill of a gaily decorated window. She lowered herself onto the plush fabric where it had folded down into a soft puddle on the deep-piled carpet.
As she tried to make herself more comfortable, she took time to survey the large room from her hiding place, as a stream of silvery light shone down from the bright star atop a heavily, decorated Christmas tree that stood directly opposite her hiding place. It seemed to cover her in a protective glow until she was forced to close her eyes to its brilliance. Her bruised and swollen body ached for food and drink, as she succumbed to the irresistible urge to close her eyes.
She awoke slowly to the voice of a child talking excitedly above the sound of tearing paper.
“A new dolly!” shouted the child. And a chorus of other children joined her voice while they all opened the wrapped presents beneath the tree. When at last the din from the children began to settle.She alerted to another voice asking..
“How about some cookies and milk to hold you all until dinner?”
“Oh, yes please mommy,” they replied in unison.
“May I sit on the floor with my new dolly and have my snack?” asked one little girl.
“Of course, just be careful not to spill on the carpet please.”
As the sound of scattering feet faded from the room, she felt the familiar complaint from her stomach returning -- her senses were heightened as she breathed in the aromas wafting from the kitchen. It was the familiar scent of a roasting bird and her body responded. Her innate sense of survival was weakening against the potential threat of danger if she was found. Would they turn her out into the wintry street? So, she remained in her hiding place, listening, waiting for opportunity to present itself.
But, she was desperate for nourishment and dared to peek around the crimson drapes. One little girl was seated alone on the floor, cradling a doll in one arm while navigating a cookie into a wobbly glass of milk with the free one. It was a large room that held a beautifully set table draped in white linen, set with gleaming silver and fine china and would soon hold the Christmas feast.
She remained hidden, hungrily watching the milk splash from the glass and crumbs from the cookie that fell around the child onto the thick carpet. When the doll began to slip from her arm, the girl lurched to catch it, knocking over the glass of milk. She cried out and ran to find her mother. There wasn’t a second to waste. The bedraggled figure darted across the room from behind her hiding place and greedily gobbled up the crumbs from the fallen cookie, then bent her head to take in as much of the spilled milk the thirsty carpet had absorbed.
The woman and little girl were returning and she darted back to her hiding place behind the red, velvet curtains. Safely out of sight, she chanced a quick look, careful not to reveal herself, as all evidence of the small accident quickly disappeared under the experienced hands of the girls mother. Soon, she was alone again and glad for the peace, just happy to be hidden away. Her body responded to the recent nourishment as she slipped into a deep sleep.
But her slumber was soon interrupted by the sound of children laughing and adults chatting, as they gathered around the dinner table to enjoy the feast. She felt strange and an odd pain unexpectedly shot through her body, and she cried out despite her strongest will to remain hidden. She heard the room go quiet, as another pain wracked her middle and she cried out again.
She could heard the sound of approaching feet. This is it. I’m found out and I’ll soon be sent into the cold again.
The red velvet drapes were suddenly pulled aside to the sound of audible gasps, and the delighted squeals of the children. She looked up at her stunned audience, but there was nothing she could do except continue to birth her kittens. As the five beautiful creatures emerged one by one that special Christmas day, each was claimed and lovingly named by the children.
She sensed that her kittens would be well cared for as she considered her own fate. She and her tiny family were carefully moved to the warmth and security of a large, hat box someone had lined with a generous portion of warmed flannel set beneath the fragrant Christmas tree. A bowl of fresh milk and a small dish of roast turkey had been placed beside her box.
With her settled away and the excitement of her discovery dealt with, they returned to the dining table where they enjoyed their Christmas repast and gave thanks for their little, Christmas day miracle.
The year was 1920. That little girl who had spilled her milk was my Aunt Florence, and it was she who claimed the mother cat for herself, aptly naming her ‘Cookie’ ~ and she was well loved.
Note:
My Aunt Florence wrote the original version of this story and gifted it to me several decades ago, which I have respectfully and lovingly edited and revised in her name. She wrote…
“This was my most memorable Christmas and I will never forget it.”
Florence Borland Hardy
Each month, Village Media selects the writing or photography of one of our +members to highlight by publishing across our sites. This month's entry came from Barrie's Linda Fitzgerald. Learn more about the +member program here.
Check out our previous winner here:
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