A Cat's-Eye Christmas, by Eve Lockett

I knew something was wrong when a tree arrived in the corner of the room. The Guardians had moved a chair out of the way, the one I perch on by the window. I hate it when they change things around, it’s unsettling. And there it stood, a tree. Its smell was powerful, a new smell overwhelming all the smells I’m used to.

I scrambled out through the cat flap, and prowled silently across the deep wet grass, checking all the familiar trees, the rustling bushes, the mysterious dark burrows in the earth. Yes, all as it should be.

When I returned, there was paper everywhere. The Guardians like paper. They stroke it, hold it, put it on the floor, make marks on it with sticks, hang it up and wrap it round things. I sit on it when I can, mainly because it feels nice, it crackles in an exciting way, and I like to join in what they are doing. I had another sniff of the tree, and even lay down under the branches as I would outside. 

No, not good. Too much to process. I climbed up to the top of the house and curled up on the Guardians’ bed, giving them time to put things right. I knew in my skin something dangerous and unpleasant was about to happen and I couldn’t scratch it away.

Down again, and the tree had burst into flower. It was covered in glinting tiny flames, round shapes, colours and yes, more paper. This time, I gave it a wide berth and settled behind the sofa next to the warm wall.

Often, when things get as disorderly as this, it’s followed by bewildering smells of food and then Strangers appear; loud, heavy, moving about, reaching their paws out to me and squeaking. But not this time. This time the Guardians scrabbled around at the top of the house for ages, calling out to each other and collecting armfuls of stuff. After that, I heard the outside door close and then it went very quiet.

The sky grew dark. Very dark. No Guardians. I slept a bit on the sofa, then padded up to the top of the house. The doors were all closed, and no sound from the other side. I’d been afraid something like this would happen. The tree was just the beginning. 

When it grew light again, I was hungry. No food in my bowl. No movement from anywhere in the house. I cried a bit, and went outside. The day was cold and damp, grey shapes hanging and dripping in the air above me. I drank from the pond as usual, and had a scratch.

Then someone was calling my name. Oh, food! A Stranger Guardian, quite friendly and not too noisy, so I allowed her to stroke my head. In fact it was quite nice, so I allowed her to do it again. ‘Happy Christmas!’ she said, whatever that meant. ‘They’ll be back soon.’

And they were – eventually – coming in with more armfuls of stuff wrapped in paper. I spent a long time reminding the Guardians who I was and why they were meant to look after me, and there was lots of scratching and stroking and my deepest, fastest purr. It all settled down properly after that.

The tree is still there. I’ve got used to it now, and in fact I quite like it. It’s comforting, and another place to hide. I hope they don’t go moving it again.