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by Dee Walmsley

A cold wind whistled through the streets. Shoppers, shrunk deep within their winter coats, scurried from store to store. A luminous glow circled the moon signaling winter’s first snowfall as fluffy flakes danced in the wind to the strains of White Christmas from a nearby store. By morning the city would wear a blanket of white polar fleece.

In a nearby alley, sheltered by a cardboard box, a tiny black kitten snuggled onto his mother’s warm belly. His wet little nose sniffed out a tired nipple. A trickle of milk silently slipped down his throat. The mother cat, stomach aching with hunger, listened for the sounds of the old man who dropped by each evening with his leftover dinner scraps.

Tommy, his nose squashed into the store window, watched as children took their turns waiting to sit on Santa’s knee. Dressed in their Sunday best, the little ones, tightly holding candy canes doled out by Santa’s helpers waited anxiously to tell the bearded man of their good behaviour and to present their wish lists. The boy pulled his faded jacket together with his cold hands shoved into his pockets. He lifted his face to the sky, stuck out his tongue caught a few falling flakes, wiped his face on his sleeve and sauntered off home to the projects knowing that for him there would be no Christmas joy.

His father’s death in Iraq saw his mother fighting her own battles with drink and depression. She managed to keep Tommy in school, knowing he’d at least have a hot lunch. She spent her days sprawled on the couch with her Jack Daniels soother.

The old man sat in the twilight silently wiping the last of the stew from his plate with a crust of bread. The change in weather sparked his arthritis into action and he groaned as he shuffled to the sink to soak his dishes. His bones begged a reprieve and so he slowly sank into the sofa. Before long, he was fast asleep.

Hunger pains forced the mother cat to leave her kitten. She must find food to stave off the long cold night. Tail high she slipped out into the busy street sniffing the air. She called to the hurried shoppers passing by, as did the homeless and the tinkling bell of the Salvation Army soldier. Lost in a sea of humanity she ran through the town centre seeking sustenance at every turn.

The screeching siren from a passing ambulance awoke the old man. Stretching slowing, he focused his weary eyes on the kitchen clock and was shocked to learn he had slept for three hours. Dragging his aching bones from the sofa, he crossed to the counter and retrieved the small plastic sack of leftovers. He shoved his arms into the aged Mack jacket, pulled on his cap, and left the apartment.

Tommy sat on the stoop counting the snowflakes, thinking about his Dad, and the previous holidays. This year wouldn’t be the same. Tears welled up and spilled down his rosy cheeks. He never allowed himself to cry in front of his mother. She had her own problems. “I wish I had something to cuddle,” he thought, wiping his nose and eyes on his sleeve he crossed his arms and laid his head on his knees.

“I think you hit a cat,” the paramedic said to the ambulance driver.

“I know,” he said. “The darn thing ran out right in front of me. I feel sick about it. Jump out and see if we can help it.”

The medic opened his door carrying the still black cat. “She’s dead,” he said and she’s a nursing mother.”

“Rats, replied the driver. Lay her on the floor. I’ll take her home and bury her. After this call we’ll drive around the neighbourhood and look for her kitten.”

The old man pulled on his galoshes and wrapped a tattered scarf around his head. He scolded himself for over-sleeping. The cats would be very hungry he thought tucking the stewed meat scraps into his pocket. He held onto the iron railing as he descended the stoop steps and shuffled off into the snowy street.

“Here kitty, kitty,” he called waiting for the black cat and her kitten to surface from the trash boxes. There was no sign of either cat. Then he heard a mewing sound. Was it the wind? He listened, and heard it again. He dropped the meat scraps and from the trash emerged an exact replica of his friend the black cat.

The kitten, hungry and cold rubbed against the old man’s leg. He tilted back his round head and meowed as loud as he could. “Where’s your mother little one?” he asked. The kitten all but melted into the man’s leg. He reached down and placed the shivering feline next to his heart under his jacket.

Tommy watched the old man struggling to keep his balance as he walked the slippery sidewalk. He ran out to help him home.

“Whatcha holding onto under yer jacket, mister?” Tommy asked as he reached for the man’s arm to steady him.

“Nuthin’ much,” the old man replied.

“Is it a Christmas turkey?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“I was just wonderin’. Last year we had a turkey and dressin’ an’ cranberry sauce, an’ mincemeat pie an’...”

The old man laughed. “Stop boy, you’re making me hungry.”

Tommy looked into the sparkling eyes of the old man. He took in the white beard and rosy cheeks and said, “Ya know what, mister? You look just like Santa.”

The man smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Tommy. What do you want for Christmas?”

Tommy scuffed his feet, was silent for a minute, and then said, “I want my mum to be happy again. My daddy died this year and she is very sad. I don’t think we’re having Christmas this year at our house, but if we do, I’d like something of my own to cuddle, that’s all.”

The old man squeezed the boy’s hand and sniffed back a tear. “Tell you what Tom, I’m all alone too. How’s about I invite you and your mum to my house?”

Tommy’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Wow! That would be great. I’ll ask my mum. Can you phone her? Our last name is Juchli and we’re in the book.”

“Sounds good to me Tom. This is my house. Thanks for helping me along the way. Now you hurry home and I’ll see you soon.”

 The next day the old man phoned and had a long conversation with Tom’s mum who finally accepted the invitation.

Tommy could hardly contain his excitement on Christmas morning. Some of it must have rubbed off on his mother. The sweet fragrance of shortbread cookies permeated the apartment. Tommy kept busy drawing a picture for the old man.

Tommy rang the doorbell promptly at two. His mother stood beside him with a tray of cookies. The door opened, the air filled with the enticing aromas of turkey and sage and the two guests shook hands and stepped inside.

Tommy couldn’t believe his eyes. A light-filled tree blinked in the corner next to a table full of beautiful dishes and cutlery. Their host hung up their coats and accepted the tray of cookies. Tommy, bursting with excitement, handed the old man his drawing.

“I made you a Christmas present,” he said.

The old man burst out laughing. Tommy’s picture had the old man dressed in a Santa suit and holding his arm was Tommy in an elf’s uniform.

“This is the best present I ever had, Tom, and if you look under the tree there are two gifts, the big box is yours and the golden one is for your mother.”

Tommy nearly tripped over his feet as he dove for the tree. He quickly handed his mum her gift and tore off the wrapping on his. Inside, nestled in a blue blanket lay the black kitten. Tommy turned to his new friend tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Is he really mine?” he asked.

“If it’s okay with your mum son, he’s all yours.”

Tommy’s mother smiled and nodded her head.

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