The Christmas Cat

I'd lived on the West Coast of Denmark for some time, working offshore. That particular winter, however, was bitterly cold, even by the standards of the Danish segment of the North Sea. I mean, when was the last time you can recall seeing the salt water of a busy harbour freezing over, strong enough that you could safely skate to Fanø, an island popular with summer tourists and a 20-minute ferry ride out of Esbjerg?

It was out first Christmas together and we were infatuated with each other. I doubt if we'd have noticed purple snow falling from green clouds ......... until the Christmas Cat dragged us back to reality.

He was nothing special to look at. He'd been ‘around the block' a few times, and had quite possibly lost more fights than he'd won, from his appearance. No collar, or signs of recently having possessed one, so we assumed he was feral - but at the same time he seemed to have taken more care with his grooming and appearance than you'd expect from someone who habitually ‘slept rough'.

It was late on Christmas Eve when he first came calling. We were living on the first floor of a set of walk-up apartments, three apartments on each of three floors: there was also a basement with shared laundry & storage facilities.

There was no key needed for the street door, and he must have simply walked in when an opportunity presented itself for him to escape from the cold. There was a fine old echo in the hallways and stairwell, so he didn't have to exert himself unduly to be heard.

Well of course we made a fuss of him: who wouldn't especially at that particular time of year when nobody (not even an animal) should be lonely or without a family around them. It wasn't until later that we actually asked ourselves: did he somehow sense that our door - which physically was no different to all the others - was the one at which he could be certain of a genuine welcome?

As everybody does, we had of course bought far more than we could possibly eat over the holiday period, even taking into account the fact that food shops were going to be closed for much longer than was the norm. An extra mouth to feed was neither here nor there, although we had not specifically planned any feline provender. However, the shops were by this time closed and there was no window of opportunity to buy more.

He wasn't a shorthair breed. To look at him you'd have thought at first that he was permanently dusty: but on closer inspection, this proved not to be the case. His fur was black, but in layer upon layer, as if he had been living wild for some considerable time, allowing his fur to thicken and provide natural protection against the elements.

Although I can't find any source references, I am certain I remember as a child being told a folk tale. Its message was that at midnight on Christmas Eve, animals all over the world are briefly granted human speech.

When we first heard his voice outside the door it was neither petulant nor angry. That might sound stupid: how can any animal give any hint of emotion in their call? I've never really understood it myself, but I'm convinced in my own mind that a cat can express emotions very clearly and distinctly by the tone of voice they use in a given situation.

He sounded somehow both sad and lonely, but dignified, polite: requesting assistance rather than demanding sanctuary, if that makes any sense at all (probably not, to anyone who hasn't experienced something of a similar nature).

There are people who could never be anything other than cat-friendly, feline by their very nature, and I admit that my wife and I fit very definitely into this category. Our hearts melted immediately we saw him: there was never any question of "Do we or don't we...?" Of course we took him in.

He approved of the apartment and the children - two boys, barely old enough to crawl, certainly not old enough to understand the concept of an unexpected Christmas guest. He also approved of the Christmas tree and all the decorations, which he obviously decided were mostly intended for his personal amusement (though he was definitely an adult cat, well beyond the natural inquisitiveness of a young kitten).

Not being sure if he was ‘housetrained' (and having no cat tray or litter in the house) we were unsure what to do for best at bedtime, but walked out with him to the garden behind the house. He did what was necessary, cleaned up after himself, and led us back to the apartment. You could almost hear him think: "Problem solved .... !"

Christmas Day itself was as mad as it always will be with children of ‘a certain age' - and of course the wrappings from presents were a cat's idea of Heaven on Earth! Add the smell and taste of a typical Christmas Dinner, and his gastric juices must have been working just as hard as ours in anticipation of what was to come. When the main meal was served, he actually sat politely (without trying to steal anything before it was offered) on a chair at the table with the rest of the family.

Boxing Day came around all too soon, as it always seems to, and ours was spent relaxing and visiting with neighbours.  It was not practical for either of us to visit family members, as we were both "strangers in a strange land" to use a Biblical phrase. Of course, all our neighbours wanted to know as much as we could tell them (which wasn't really very much) about the Christmas Cat, but none of them seemed to have heard him when he was mewing outside our door. This was probably when I first began to wonder if there was more to this cat than first met the eye: it seemed unlikely to me then (and even now, many years later, still seems incredible) that we were the only ones to hear him

The weather continued to be bitterly, bitingly cold: without somewhere for shelter and warmth, I am certain that our Christmas Cat would not have made it through the festive season.

When December 27^th dawned, the skies were clear and there was no longer a cutting ‘edge' to the weather, although it was still cold but not uncomfortably so. Businesses were setting out their post-Christmas  displays of Sale Goods, fresh foods such as bread and milk were once again available, and a partial thaw seemed to be setting in (though we were pretty sure that it would only be a temporary respite).

By now we'd got used to the unexpected guest who had given us so much love and affection during the three days of the holiday period. Curiously, although I think we'd already tacitly agreed that we would offer him a permanent place in our hearts if he chose to remain with us, we hadn't got around to giving him a Name. We all know, of course, about the Naming of Cats, and the Name which is Known to Only One Cat, but it never even occurred to us to find even a temporary ‘label' of any sort.

We took him out to answer Nature's call that bright winter morning, and stood by the back door as he selected his corner of the garden and attended his needs. After a lengthy grooming period in the morning sun, he suddenly sat up straight, looked us in the eye, and purred far louder than we had previously heard from him. Even today, I am convinced that it was his way of expressing his gratitude.

I think at this point I knew what was about to happen. That, however, didn't make it any easier to accept when he turned calmly to face the rear of the garden, trotted to the fence, and leapt over the wall and out of our lives, leaving a line of pawprints in the pristine snow and an ache in our hearts which remained there until we acquired a cat in need of a loving home from an animal sanctuary.