The Year the Cat Saved Christmas - a novella Read online

  The Year the Cat Saved Christmas

  by

  Barbara Bretton

  Previously published by Berkley Books as "Home for the Holidays" - The Christmas Cat Anthology

  Acclaim for the novels of

  Barbara Bretton

  “Bretton’s characters are always real and their conflicts believable.”

  — Chicago Sun-Times

  “Soul warming... A powerful relationship drama [for] anyone who enjoys a passionate look inside the hearts and souls of the prime players.”

  — Midwest Book Review

  “[Bretton] excels in her portrayal of the sometimes sweet, sometimes stifling ties of a small community. The town’s tight network of loving, eccentric friends and family infuses the tale with a gently comic note that perfectly balances the darker dramas of the romance.”

  — Publishers Weekly

  “A tender love story about two people who, when they find something special, will go to any length to keep it.”

  — Booklist

  “Honest, witty... absolutely unforgettable.”

  — Rendezvous

  “A classic adult fairy tale.”

  — Affaire de Coeur

  “Dialogue flows easily and characters spring quickly to life.”

  — Rocky Mountain News

  Publishing History

  Print edition published by Berkley 1996

  Copyright 1996, 2013 by Barbara Bretton

  Cover design by Barbara Bretton

  Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, may be reproduced in any form by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Epilogue

  More Ebooks from Barbara Bretton

  About the Author

  Prologue

  As a rule, Sebastian endured Christmas with the good grace for which the best cats were known. He never indulged in merrymaking. His self-defined role as elder statesman precluded such a loss of dignity. Instead he held himself aloof and watched with great indulgence as his humans did the strangest things.

  Once a year, around the first snowstorm, they opened the front doors wide and dragged in a big pine tree from outside. The same people who scolded him when he came in with muddy paws ignored bugs and dirt and sap and set the tree right smack in the middle of the living room carpet. They hung round, shiny objects from the branches and strung twinkling lights from top to bottom. Then, when that was all done, they placed boxes tied up with bows underneath the lowest branches.

  Everyone who came to visit gathered around the tree to sing songs and drink something called eggnog and to give each other presents that weren't half as much fun as catnip or a ball of yarn. All things considered, it was a most puzzling time of the year.

  At Christmastime a cat had to learn how to cope or he'd find himself with a Santa Claus hat on his head and a ribbon around his neck, posing for some stupid holiday card picture that would embarrass him for the rest of his days. The dog and the parrot were perfectly happy to make fools of themselves and wear all manner of ridiculous outfits to make their humans laugh, but not Sebastian. The first person who tried to make him wear snow boots or a bow around his neck would find himself picking kitty litter out of his teeth for a year.

  Sebastian did not suffer fools gladly. Christmas was not his favorite time of year. He preferred Thanksgiving, thank you very much, with that big juicy roasted bird on the table and lots of leftovers. When Christmas got too loud and confusing, he retreated to his hiding place in the Girl's room where a cat in his golden years could sleep in peace and quiet until things got back to normal again.

  This year, however, something was wrong. There was no tree, no beribboned packages, no friends and relatives gathered around singing songs to torment the ears of innocent cats. The Boy and Girl moped around in their rooms and not even talk of Santa Claus could make them smile. And what worried Sebastian most was that their parents weren't smiling either.

  When it all began, the Man slept downstairs on the sofa while she had the big bed all to herself. Sebastian, with the sensibilities of a diplomat, had tried to divide his attentions between the two of them but his twelve-year-old legs weren't what they used to be. The stairs took their toll on his rickety knees and made him wheeze like a bulldog, so most of the time he slept on the landing so he could be near them both.

  Finally the time came when he didn't have to do that any longer, because the Man packed his bags and moved to something called a hotel.

  The dog refused to believe anything was wrong. The parrot thought Sebastian was making a mountain out of a molehill, but Sebastian knew in his ancient bones that change was in the wind. He had been around since the beginning and he knew how it used to be when they were happy. There had been so much laughter in the little cottage that he couldn't hear himself purr. Now he couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen them smile.

  He found himself dreaming about the little cottage where he'd first lived with them and how happy they'd been. It was as if the cottage itself were somehow calling him back home. The Woman used to sing while she cooked dinner and sometimes the Man came into the kitchen and drew her into his arms and they danced around the floor. Sebastian would even get into the act. He'd wind his way between their ankles until, laughing, they would bend down and stroke his fur just the way he liked it. Ah, those were the days....

  He'd been young then and fast. A better mouser never lived than Sebastian in his prime. He'd bring his treasures home proudly and place them on the front porch but she never seemed to appreciate them the way Sebastian thought she should. As far as Sebastian was concerned, it didn't get much better than dead mouse.

  Sebastian didn't do much mousing anymore and his birding days were a thing of the past. He hadn't gone exploring in longer than he could remember, content instead to stay close to home in case he was needed. Sometimes he thought he caught the mourning doves laughing at him as he lay on the back steps and sunned himself. He pretended he didn't notice them waddling by, but he did. It was a sad day when a proud cat like Sebastian couldn't catch a mourning dove but time marched on and, like it or not, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

  Not long ago a sign appeared in the front yard and every day strange people marched through the house. Sebastian refused to acknowledge their presence as they peeked in closets and peered under the beds. He didn't know exactly what was going on but he knew enough to understand his life was about to change.

  He hadn't seen his people together in a long time. The Man hadn't been around much since the sign appeared. The other day Sebastian had heard his voice through the answering machine and he'd winced as the dog danced abo
ut with delight. Poor Charlie just didn't understand the difference between a machine and the real thing. For a minute Sebastian had wished he didn't either. He wanted to believe that his people would be together again and things would be the way they used to, but he was starting to suspect it never would.

  When the big long truck pulled into the driveway that morning, Sebastian knew it was all over. He sat in the foyer and watched with growing dismay as the televisions vanished into the truck, along with the piano and dishes and even the paintings on the walls.

  A snowy boot nudged his flank. "Move, fatso."

  Sebastian aimed a malevolent look in the human’s direction but he didn't budge an inch. It was his house. Let old Snow Boots move.

  "Hey, tubs." The brown boot nudged a little harder. "I got a twelve foot couch to move. Get your furry ass out of my way."

  Sebastian considered turning the human's pants into confetti but thought better of it. Instead he leaped onto the sofa with a surprising display of agility and curled up in the corner as if he hadn't a care in the world. He was having trouble catching his breath but he refused to let on.

  "Hey, lady!" the human bellowed. "Do something about this cat, will you?"

  "Sebastian!" She appeared in the doorway. "Scat! Stay out of the moving man's way."

  Sebastian arched his back and hissed. Scat? Since when did she tell him to scat? She'd never embarrassed him in front of strangers before and he didn't like it one bit.

  "Bad cat!" Her voice shook as if she'd been crying. "Don't you ever do anything right?"

  Her words cut him to the quick. He jumped down from the sofa, landing hard on his paws. Pain shot up his legs and along his back. He was getting too old for gymnastics. He waited for her to come see if he'd hurt himself but she turned away as if she'd forgotten he was even there. That hurt most of all.

  "You gonna stand there all day, fatso?" the human asked, aiming that boot in Sebastian's direction one more time. "You heard what the lady said. Now scat!"

  Sebastian couldn't help himself. There was only so much a cat could take before he defended his honor. With one graceful swing of his paw, he turned the moron's right pants leg into a windsock and then he marched out the front door, tail held high. Maybe next time the human would think twice before insulting an innocent feline who was just minding his own business.

  He strutted out onto the porch and surveyed his domain.

  Snow was everywhere he looked: on the porch, the driveway, all over the yard. Sebastian's whiskers quivered with distaste. He hated snow. It was cold and wet and reminded him of baths and other indignities. Maybe if he looked pathetic enough, she would come out and rescue him. An apology would be nice but he wouldn't insist.

  He waited patiently, watching as tables and chairs and beds and tables disappeared into the big truck parked in the driveway. It seemed a very strange thing to do and he was pondering the mystery when he suddenly remembered the last time something just like this had happened to him.

  The Boy and Girl had been babies then, too little to do anything but sleep and eat and cry. Sebastian would have suggested they leave the babies behind but his people had a strange fondness for the little roundheads, a fondness Sebastian learned to share only after they were out of diapers. In his opinion, litter boxes made a great deal more sense.

  He remembered that summer as if it were yesterday. All of their furniture had disappeared into a truck that time, too, only back then there hadn't been quite as much of it, and most of what they had boasted claw marks.

  "Don't look so sad, Sebastian," the Woman had said, chucking him under the chin. "You'll love the new house!"

  "Wait until you see the backyard, old boy," the Man had said with a laugh. "Slower birds and plumper mice and lots of shady places to take a nap."

  Was that the last time they'd all been happy? The Man worked harder than ever and was home less and less. She worked harder too, sitting alone at the computer late at night while the Boy and Girl slept. Sebastian never saw them curled up side by side on the sofa or dancing in the kitchen or heard them laughing together in their room late at night.

  The moving men bellowed something behind him. Sebastian scampered down the icy stairs and darted under the porch, just in time to avoid being flattened by work boots and the big couch from the den. Snow brushed against his belly and made him shiver. He hated the cold almost as much as he hated the three-cans-for-a-dollar cat food his people sometimes foisted on him. At his age he should be curled up in front of a roaring fireplace with a platter of sliced veal and gravy, claiming his rightful place in the family.

  Wasn't it bad enough that the Man didn't live with them anymore or that sometimes she cried herself to sleep when she thought no one could hear her? Now they wouldn't even have a home and everyone knew you couldn't be a family if you didn't have a place where you could be together.

  The cottage on Burnt Sugar Hill.

  For days Sebastian had felt the pull of the old place until the need to see that old house again was almost irresistible. And now he finally thought he knew why: the secret to being a family was hidden within its four walls and somehow Sebastian had to lead his people back home before it was too late.

  Chapter One

  Jill Whittaker crouched down and fastened the top snap on her daughter's bright red down jacket. "There," she said, sitting back on her heels and smiling. "Now you look perfect."

  Six-year-old Tori beamed at her mother. "I know."

  Jill laughed and turned to Tori's twin brother Michael. She tugged at the Christmas green scarf around his neck. "And you look perfect too."

  Michael's dark brows knit together over the bridge of his straight nose and for a moment Jill thought her heart would break. He was a miniature version of his father, with the same blue eyes and serious nature.

  "Boys don't look perfect," Michael said, casting a curious glance toward his sister. "Only babies care about that."

  Tori punched him in the arm. He grabbed for her knit cap. Tori was about to retaliate with a swift kick learned at karate class but Jill intervened.

  "It's Christmas Eve," she said in her most sternly maternal tone of voice. "If you don't behave, Santa might think twice about coming to visit."

  The twins were instantly chastened. Jill breathed a sigh of relief but that relief was short-lived.

  "How can Santa visit if we don't live here anymore," Tori pointed out.

  Michael nodded vigorously. "How will he know we're at Aunt Patsy's."

  "What if Santa can't find us?" Tori went on, her small face pinched with worry.

  "What if he doesn't know we're moving and he looks for us here and can't find us?"

  "Santa knows everything," Michael's eyes met Jill's. "Doesn't he, Mommy?"

  "I sent Santa a change of address form," Jill said, congratulating herself on a quick save. "He knows we'll be at Aunt Patsy's tonight."

  The children watched her face carefully, searching for the slightest indication that she'd spun her story from whole cloth. They were at the age where they desperately wanted to believe in Santa Claus and Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy but were getting old enough to suspect something wasn't quite right.

  "What about Daddy?" Michael asked, looking more like David than ever. "How will Santa find him?"

  She swallowed hard against a terrible wave of sadness. "You know how Daddy leaves messages on the answering machine when we're out?" They nodded. "Well, Daddy left Santa a message and told him he was going to San Francisco."

  Tori's lower lip began to tremble. "I don't want Daddy to go to San 'risco."

  "Call Daddy," Michael ordered Jill. "Tell him Santa said he shouldn't go."

  And she had once thought labor was going to be the tough part. "Sometimes mommies and daddies have to live someplace else in order to do their jobs," she said carefully, wondering how much of the explanation was actually getting through. The only thing Tori and Michael really understood was that their daddy was going away and, to them, that was all that was importa
nt. "Isn't that what Daddy told you yesterday when you spent the day with him?"

  "Daddy said we can come to San 'risco and see a gold bridge," Michael said.

  "Bridges aren't gold," Tori said, shaking her head. "You're dumb."

  "Am not!"

  "Yes, you are."

  Michael pulled at Tori's scarf and the little girl let out a shriek that could wake the dead while Jill wondered why nobody ever told you the truth about parenthood. Oh, they shared all the details about pregnancy and childbirth. And you could find a million books about colic and teething and the terrible twos. But nobody ever mentioned moments like this when only a white lie (or a one-way ticket to Tahiti) would do.

  Her neighbor Phyllis tapped on the open front door. "Quakerbridge Mall taxi, at your service."

  "Hi, Phyl." Jill stood up and tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt. "Great timing," she said sotto voce. "We were heading into dangerous territory."

  Phyllis winked at Jill then turned to the kids. "Get your mittens, kittens, and let's hit the road. Santa's elves have two candy canes with your names on them waiting for you."

  The twins scampered off toward the kitchen.

  "Keep the door closed," Jill called out. "Don't let Sebastian or Charlie get loose."

  With the movers traipsing in and out all morning, she'd had to keep a sharp eye on their menagerie.

  "So how are you doing, girl?" Phyllis asked, her grey eyes warm with concern.

  "I just dodged another one of those tricky Santa Claus questions. If I make it through this Christmas, I'll kiss Rudolph right on his bright red nose."

  "You'll make it," Phyllis said, "but I wish you'd change your mind about moving."