'Twas the night before Christmas ...
In the days before Netflix, the night before Christmas was traditionally the time for family entertainment of a different kind. Everyone would gather round the fireside for games and ghost stories. Many of the stories would be passed off as, ‘authentic anecdotes about spectres,’ Jerome K Jerome wrote in Told After Supper, an anthology of Christmas ghost stories
Last year, I shared a short story called Luna’s Song which fell into this genre. This year, I have penned a poem, which has an important message for this time of the year and reminds me of the words of Francis of Assisi:
’If you have men who will exclude any of God's creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men.’
Poem text:
The Cat in the Window
On Christmas Eve, the clowder met, Grey and cold, weak and wet. It watched the shoppers rushing past, Speeding homeward, free at last. Six eyes of amber, gold and green, Lit up the alley’s dismal scene And fixed with an unwavering gaze, The pet shop, just across the way. The church bell signalled closing time, But each was heedless of its chime. Instead, they watched a kitten stare From the window, lone and bare. Mu, with green-glass eyes stood up: He used to sup from a gilded cup Until the colour-scheme was changed And his departure was arranged. Luna, sweet as moonbeams, light and fair Drifted down on the soft night air. Here her kittens came when no one took her in, And here they faded, weak and thin. Captain Jack - three legs, one eye, one ear, Shivered, not with cold but instead with fear, For once he had been complete and whole, Until torment and cruelty took their toll. Suddenly, six eyes flashed bright, As a child appeared in the fading light And pressed his nose to the window pane, And cried ‘I want!’, again and again.
His care-worn mother came to see What had filled her son with glee, But a chill wind from the alley way Made her drag her child away. A lady passed the window, black, Stopped, smiled and then turned back, And to the kitten sadly said, ‘You’re so like my Captain Fred.’ The shop bell rang, she went inside: Carrying a box with care and pride, She stepped onto the path again, But something made her cross the lane. There she held the box on high, And with a heartfelt, passionate cry Made a pledge to the empty night, To let them know it would be all right. ‘This cat is not a plaything, This cat is not a toy. I will give this cat her dignity And she will bring me joy!’ A gust of wind, and bright lights flashed, A touch of warmth rushing past, And in the starlit sky she heard A gentle sound, as three cats purred. Hilary Orme
