The first thing Sara noticed when she came out of doors were the prints in the snow. Her profound relief was tinged with concern. The trail led to the stone wall and into the copse beyond.

The animal must be very hungry to come so close to the cottage, but at least it was still alive. They called it 'The Beast of Bodmin'. A huge leopard, if the locals were to be believed! The animal was much larger than a domestic cat, it looked like a small panther. It had certainly frightened Sara when she had first come across it soon after she moved in.

It had been slumbering in the long undergrowth under the stone wall. A spitting, snarling bundle of energy had sprung up as Sara approached, intending to wage war on the massed weeds.
She had fallen back, too shocked to even cry out. Her garden fork had saved her from a mauling, as the frightened beast lashed out at her. White claws were vivid against the jet-black fur. Gold eyes blazed furiously before it turned, bounded over the low wall and disappeared into the dense thicket of trees.

The isolated cottage had been empty for some time. No doubt the animal thought itself safe. Intrigued now, rather than scared, Sara sliced off some meat from her joint that evening and placed it on top of the wall. She then retreated to her bedroom to watch events.

It had been a night of full moon and the offering was clearly visible. Sara waited for more than an hour before a sleek black shape detached itself from the shadows.
Front paws on the wall, it had sniffed the meat and gazed warily around.

After a moment, the beautiful creature lifted its head and looked up at the open window. Sara felt enchantment fill the space and a deep communication flow between herself and the wild beast. For a long moment gold eyes locked onto blue. Then the cat picked up the meat and sauntered off into the night, leaving Sara with a feeling of high exhilaration.

After a week of the same ritual, Sara tried putting the meat nearer to the cottage, on the lawn. But the cat was far too intelligent for that! It had appeared, but refused to come any nearer than the wall. A low humming wail issued from its throat, as if chiding Sara for her familiarity. It retreated into the trees, leaving the meat intact.

Sara had respected the animal's reticence and left the food on the wall. Every time the wild beast appeared, there was that long moment of communication with Sara.
She had been extremely concerned during the past few weeks when the cat had failed to show up. But, here were the pug marks in the snow and suddenly  all was right 
with Sara's world.  

                                        *

Her friends had thought her mad to exchange her modern London apartment for this old stone cottage on the edge of Bodmin Moor. But Sara gazed about her and heaved a sigh of pleasure.
The unfolding hills, usually a mosaic of earthy tones , were mantled in white. Not just plain white. Sara's artistic eye sought out the muted shades of powder blue shadow and pale gold light where the low winter sun tipped the brow of the hill. She breathed deeply in the cold crisp air, knowing she had made the right choice. Even an overnight layer of snow on Christmas Eve.
 
Perfect!

She sighed happily, more content now than she had been since Malcolm's death. Her paintings had taken on a lyrical quality and had sold well since she had been living here.  Even spending Christmas alone was something she had insisted upon in order to celebrate its true meaning.

Sara wondered where her 'pet' had been for the past few weeks and decided she would give it a double helping of turkey tomorrow.      

When she got back from the village shop , her cheeks were glowing with the biting air and she felt a lightness of heart, that was in no small measure due to the return of the cat. She had treasured the moments of silent rapport between them. A communication that sprang from her own deep love of Nature.

Sara went up the path but stopped short as a warning growl came from the porch. The cat lay on the red tiles, panting. An ugly round hole on its side was matted with congealed blood. The once sleek fur was dull and staring. 
The once beautiful cat was thin to the point of starvation, its shallow breathing ragged and painful to hear. Gold eyes stared into blue.

'Oh, let me help you,' Sara cried out involuntarily, horrified at the animal's condition.

The wild cat gazed into Sara's eyes and transmitted a message loud and clear. At that moment a black cub, appeared between its mother's paws. At the sight of Sara, its back arched and it spat and snarled, as wild as its mother had been.
Sara dropped to her knees, oblivious of the snow soaking into her clothes. The message had been transmitted and understood.

'I'll look after him for you,' she whispered, into the golden eyes.

The long moment of communication was over. There was a faint rattle in the throat and the beautiful eyes glazed over. What had been a living creature, lithe and free, was nothing but a shell.

'God speed!' Sara cried, feeling a savage rage for the human being who had fired the gun.

The cub looked perplexed and butted its head against the dead cat. It's little tongue came out as it tried to lick some life into it's mother's inert form.
Sara slid past the cub and into her kitchen. She had some giblets, lightly boiled, on the stove. She found a plate and mashed some of the liver and heart and took it outside. After a few seconds of hissing, the aroma of the giblets was too appealing and the cub ate ravenously.
 
It seemed she would be having a guest for Christmas, after all!