A Christmas Miracle Part 2: Miracles happen at Christmas, remember? Sandy Claws and the rest of the Elves rearranged the cats in the sleigh, trying to create a space for the Dumpster Kittens. This is simply awful, moaned Woeful Awful. Well never find room for all these poor kitties. Oh me, oh my! Sandy patted Woeful on the back. I told you to have faith, Woeful. Miracles happen at Christmas, remember? And this year, I feel, should be especially auspicious. Still, Sandy had secret doubts. There were an extraordinary number of kittens this year, and the number of suitable households dwindled every year as more and more litters of kittens arrived. The true miracle, he thought, would be that people would suddenly wake up and realize that there was an answer to this huge cat overpopulation problem--spaying and neutering their household pets. He shook his head sadly. So simple a solution, yet folks, good folks at heart, were so slow to embrace it. There were actually a number of people around who still believed the old wives tales: that letting a cat have just one litter would make her a better cat; that somehow neutering a male would make him fat and lazy. Sandy brightened as Warmheart dashed out of the shelter with a basket full of squirming kittens. He tucked the kittens in among the older cats, but saved Braveheart for last. Im gonna miss you, little one, he whispered, as he tucked the brown tabby kitten into the pocket of his big red coat. You can ride up here in front with me, just this one last time. The kitten gazed up at him with trusting green eyes as they prepared to depart. The Elves scrambled into the sleigh, and they were off in a whirlwind of snow crystals. On Dasher! On Dancer... Up, up, UP they rose, with snowflakes dancing a polka in their wake. Soon, they were in rarified air, clear as crystal, as comets tails and stars effervescence lit their way through the sky. They were so far above the Earth that it was just a baseball-sized sphere of marbled green, blue and white swirls. Yet through some strange chemistry of the atomosphere, the holiday, or simply Good Will, they were able to squint in a manner that caused their vision to zoom in on each slumbering household as they orbited the Earth. Look, Sandy Claws! Theres old Emma Fogerty asleep sitting up in her rocking chair. She looks so lonely since her Jimmy-cat died last Fall. Sandy leaned on the reins and guided the sleigh toward Emmas roof. She would be a perfect match for Beulah. Two old ladies who could rock together and warm each other even when the fire on the hearth went out. Sandy made a three-point landing on the roof and handed Beulah to Woeful, so he could do the honors. A few minutes later, Woeful darted back up the chimney with a huge grin on his ash-smeared face. Theyre sleeping together like two innocent babes. I wish I could be there when Emma wakes up on Christmas morning. Sandy chuckled. This was his favorite way to start the trip; it was the only time of the year when Woeful lost his usual woe-begone expression and threw himself into the spirit of the Season. The sleighful of love and cheer was just leaving Emmas village when one of the Elves pointed at a huge gray mansion on the outskirts of town. Theres old man Grumbles house. Do you suppose he deserves a cat this year? Sandy grinned. Grumble had a reputation in the village for being a wealthy old skinflint, but Sandy remembered a time sixty or so years ago when a small boy had rescued a kitten from a pack of dogs. Little Amos Grumble had taken the kitten home, but his father had roughly grabbed it and stomped out of the house. He returned later, kitten-less, and Amos learned, all too soon, that some things are not meant to be. He could have more money than Midas, but just couldnt buy happiness with it. Sandy yanked again on the reins and the sleigh spun around, with Elves grabbing kittens and hanging onto their hats for dear life. Hey! Watch it, Sandy! Whee! (The latter came from Alfie, the youngest of the Elves, who had a bit of the daredevil in him yet.) Sandy chose Mr. Peterson for Amos Grumble. Hes been around for awhile, already suffered some hard knocks, but clever enough to know how to butter up an old mans heart. Listen to him purr already. Sure enough, Mr. Peterson was purring to beat the band. Sandy tied a red ribbon to Mr. Ps collar. The bright red of the bow enhanced the cats shiny black coat, and you hardly noticed the scars on his face and neck. Mr. Petersons former owner had developed an allergy and had released the cat in a large park, thinking he could fend for himself. Mr. P. also, had met with a pack of dogs, and only the quick-thinking of a Good Samaritan had saved him from certain death. Sandy whistled Jingle Bells while Alfie did the honors this time. Shortly he flew out of the chimney with a big smile. The old man was dreaming about a kitten! he exclaimed. So it went all night. Village after metropolis, after isolated farm; house after cottage, after condominium.
Posted on: Thu, 05 Dec 2013 02:17:52 +0000
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