The Christmas Cat Tails

by Peter Scottsdale

  “Nothing we can do on Christmas Day. Just starve through it and look for a job tomorrow.”

  Poof mewed some more.

  “Sorry, Poof. I can’t feed – you don’t have any water. And I don’t have a bowl.”

  Alan fished out the tuna sandwich wrapper and formed it into a bowl. He filled it with water. As soon as he put it down, she drank – lots.

  “Sorry, furry kitty. I never though of water.”

  Alan heard bells – big bells, church bells. He went to the window and drew the curtain. He scanned the scene outside his room and saw a cross high above the other buildings on a steeple.

  “Poof, I’m going to church.”

  Chapter Four

  “I haven’t been to church since I was a kid, Poof,” Alan said and gave her a scratch that she pushed into, turning her head around. He got dressed and put his runners and winter coat on. He left his motel room with hope.

  He walked toward the church steeple with the wind blowing cold. He pushed his hands into his pockets and put his head down. Even with his coat on, he froze.

  Five minutes later, he rounded a corner and discovered the church – a large, beautiful building with many windows and the tall steeple Alan had followed. The church parking lot looked full. Alan crossed the street, went between the vehicles and entered the house of prayer. Heat – glorious heat – enveloped him. A man dressed in a suit approached.

  “Are you new to the church?” the man said. “I haven’t seen you before.”

  Alan nodded and shook the man’s hand.

  “I’m Paul.”

  “Alan. May I see the pastor?”

  “Of course,” Paul said and turned to show Alan the way to the pews.

  “He just got started. There’s room at the back.”

  Alan opened the door to the chapel and went in. He found a seat in the close to capacity congregation. He sat and listened to the pastor speak.

  “I received a letter from a woman I’ll call Betty – that’s not her real name. She wrote that she had not forgiven when she had the chance. You see, her husband of 43 years had had an affair early in their marriage. She didn’t know about the affair. But when he found out he had terminal brain cancer and only had a month to live, he confessed to her. Obviously, this upset her. He asked her to forgive him. She refused. On his deathbed, he asked her again to forgive him and again she refused. He died without her forgiveness.

  “In the letter, Betty describes the agony she feels five years after his death. She is no longer angry with him for having the affair. No, she is in pain because she did not forgive him when she had the chance. She let that chance slip away. And now at 83, she is slipping away heavy with the guilt of not forgiving her husband.

  “Jesus taught us to forgive as he forgave. Do you have a relative or friend or even a stranger who has done you wrong that you have not forgiven?

  “Families come together at this time of Christ’s birth. Some of your family may be in need of forgiveness. Do not allow this holiday of forgiveness to go by without forgiving those who have wronged us.

  “If you are in need of forgiveness, ask for it. Tell them you wronged them and that you need their forgiveness. This is the season of love and joy and charity. Please extended the season into forgiveness.”

  Alan wondered if he could forgive Kim. He certainly wouldn’t be doing it anytime soon.

  Alan’s attention drifted off the pastor and his sermon. He gazed about the room at the backs of people’s heads. He saw blonde, brown and black hair. Two redheads caught his attention. They stood out with their beautiful hair, each pulled back into a ponytail.

  Little girls, probably sisters. Twins?

  Beside them sat a tall man with salt and pepper hair.

  Probably their dad.

  The parishioners sang a hymn, and the sermon ended with the pastor reminding everyone about the Christmas charity supper that afternoon. He left the pulpit and headed to the front exit. The crowd filed toward the door where Pastor Jim thanked each man, woman and child for attending and wished each a “Merry Christmas.”

  Alan waited until they had all left and then approached the pastor.

  “I need your help,” he said.

  Chapter Five

  Jim smiled at him. He introduced himself and shook Alan’s hand.

  “What’s going on, Alan?”

  “I tried to kill myself last night.”

  “I see. How do you feel now?”

  “Relieved. I don’t want to die anymore.”

  “Good.”

  “But I do need your help. I’ve lost everything. My job, my money and the woman I thought loved me.”

  Alan’s lip quivered and tears wet his eyes. Jim put his hand on Alan’s shoulder.

  “Come,” Jim said. “Let’s sit down. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Yes.”

  The two men sat in the pews. Alan explained, telling Jim about Kim and how she took him by pretending to be in love with him.

  “Do you still love her?”

  “I think so. It’s hard to let go of those feelings.”

  “But you know she isn’t for you.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Alan told him about his attempt to freeze himself to death and how Poof saved his life just by being there.

  “A gift from God, no doubt,” Jim said. “You saved her too.”

  “A gift from God, alright. But I have no food to feed her or myself, for that matter.”

  “We are having a community Christmas dinner at four for those down on their luck or need to be in the company of others on this holiday. Please join us.”

  Alan hungered now, and he was sure Poof did too. But he didn’t want to impose anymore than he already had. He would wait for the dinner and take food back for Poof afterwards.

  “Thanks. I’ll be there,” Alan said.

  However, Alan did not tell Jim his credit cards were useless and he only had one night left at the motel and then he and his kitten would be homeless tomorrow.

  One thing at a time.

  He said, “Goodbye, Jim,” and walked out the doors.

  Chapter Six

  Alan returned to the motel and got welcomed with a loud meow. She wanted to be fed. So did he. But they had nothing until supper.

  “I’ll bring you some turkey later.”

  He took off his coat and shoes and dropped onto the bed. With remote control in hand, he flipped channels until he found an old black and white movie. He watched A Christmas Carol and wished he’d been more like Scrooge – stingy.

  “Lesson learned,” he said.

  The movie ended. He wanted to call his mother in Oshawa didn’t want to worry her. Besides he couldn’t pay for the call. He would call her when and if he could get back on his feet and heading back to Oshawa. She hated her son being away from her. He longed for Oshawa. His home. When he had the money, he’d leave this rotten town as fast as he could. He had no reason to stay here. He would take Poof and go home. Alan looked up.

  “God, please get me home.”

  It was 3:47pm.

  Chapter Seven

  Alan entered the church and stepped down the stairs to the hall in the basement. He smelt the cooking turkey. He took in a full breath through his nose.

  “So good,” he said and walked into the hall. People filled the room, talking and eating with joy. A buffet lined the left wall and in rows of tables, sat the hungry Christmas crowd.

  “Alan,” Jim said as he approached. “I’m glad you made it. Come in and get yourself a plate. There’s lots here to eat.”

  “Thank you so much,” Alan said and smiled wide.

  Alan got in line for the buffet. A few people were ahead of him. His stomach wanted him to push pass them and gorge himself, but Alan controlled himself. The line moved forward. Alan picked up a plate and peered past the people at the food. He saw dinner buns. When the line moved, he took one bun – soft and fresh – and a buttercup – cold and hard – that would be difficu
lt to spread on the bun without tearing it. He moved along. A considerable smorgasbord lay before him.

  A platter of cold cuts and cheese looked so good. He took some white cheese he thought was Havarti and a few slices of salami. Appetizing candied yams and savory brown sugar mashed turnips came next. Bowls of delicious veggies – corn, peas and carrots, and green beans in a creamy sauce enticed him. He scooped up one spoonful of each. The following dish gave him pause.

  Who would bring black olives to a Christmas dinner? Horrid things.

  He moved down the line before he retched.

  The next dish made him say, “Uumm, stuffing.” He took a deep sniff and loaded his plate. Well-seasoned and heavenly. After that, he came across a bunch of green stuff he could not identify. He studied it but couldn’t figure out what it was. A woman walked up and filled the stuffing bowl.

  “What is that?” Alan asked her and pointed at the green pile of something.

  She shrugged and said, “Don’t know. Someone brought it in.”

  Alan wanted to speak up and say, “ Who brought this stuff? What is it?” But he didn’t. He stared at it until the man behind him gave Alan a nudge to get moving.

  “What is that?” Alan asked the man.

  The man got close to it and smelled it. He appeared confused and said, “It - it’s green.”

  Beside the green whatever it was, lay a bowl of white cheer. He knew what that was.

  “Mashed potatoes,” Alan said, excited. “And gravy.”

  He piled the potatoes over the stuffing and poured gravy over both. He stuck his finger in his gravy.

  “Lumpy yet enjoyable,” he said after licking it off his finger.

  Alan moved on and discovered sliced, sweet honey-glazed ham ready to serve. He picked up the giant serving fork and put two slices on his plate.

  “Want some?” said the fat man in a chef’s uniform who stood at end of the line serving turkey.

  “It’s really juicy.”

  And inviting.

  Alan held out his plate, and the chef put three pieces of breast meat on his plate.

  “It looks so good,” Alan said.

  “Oh, it is.”

  Alan had piled his plate high. A table of drinks – coffee, tea, juice and eggnog – came next. Alan picked up a Styrofoam cup of red juice and turned to find a seat.

  The crowded room didn’t seem to yield a seat. Alan scanned to room. A tall man stood up and put his coat on, leaving an empty seat. Alan got to it in time to keep the guy behind him from getting the open seat. He sat down and put his plate and cup down.

  “I’m so hungry,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Everyone here is,” a woman said.

  Alan ignored her and ate. He gulped down the mash potatoes and gravy first.

  “You need to slow down and savor each bite,” the same woman said.

  “I can’t,” Alan said through the stuffing he’d stuffed into his mouth.

  He ate and ate and went up for seconds. He returned to his seat and pushed ham into his mouth.

  “It’s like you haven’t eaten in days,” the woman said.

  “Pretty close,” he said and looked up. A redheaded beauty sat across from him. Probably five-foot-three, about 35 years old. She had a few crinkles around her eyes when she smiled at him and a grey hair or two. Awestruck, he stopped eating.

  A young redhead girl, about 13 years old, sat down beside her with a plate full of desserts.

  “Mom, look what I got,” the girl said.

  “Are you sure you got enough?” her mother said.

  “Were you in church this morning?” Alan asked her.

  “Yes. Were you?” the woman said.

  Alan nodded. His heart pounded. Sweat burst out of his skin. He stammered and tried to say something – anything.

  “I – I thought you were sisters this morning,” he said.

  She smiled.

  “Nope,” she said. “She’s my daughter.”

  Alan decided not to say he only thought that from behind. He wanted to ask her for her name but could form the words. He fell over his tongue.

  “Wha – who are –“ he said and groaned.

  She looked perplexed. He found her expression cute. His armpits sweated.

  “What is your name, please?” Alan asked her and let out a “whew.”

  “Ok?” she said. “I’m Darla, and this is Chelsey.”

  He wanted to ask her if she was a single parent, but he said, “Where’s your husband?”

  Her face dropped. Her eyes glistened over with tears. He knew he had asked the wrong question. He wanted to disappear – right then.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” Darla said. “My husband died one year ago. He was killed by a drunk driver.”

  Chelsey started to cry.

  “Oh. Sorry to hear about that.”

  “My daddy is not a that,” Chelsey said with sad and angry tears on her face.

  “We have to go,” Darla said.

  The two got up and put on their coats. They walked away. The plate of desserts went untouched. And Alan watched them leave.

  Nicely done, jerk. No wonder you have such bad luck with women.

  Alan pushed away his plate of seconds.

  I don’t deserve to eat anymore.

  A woman came up to him.

  “Hi. Alan?”

  He glanced up and found a middle-aged woman looking down at him with eyebrows up.

  “Yes.” Who is this? What’s she want? Nothing good, I bet.

  “I’m Amy. I’m Jim’s wife.”

  She stuck out her hand. Alan tried to stand up and nailed his knees into the table twice.

  “Aah, ooh, ahh,” he said through the pain. He rubbed his knees.

  Amy put her hand over her mouth and laughed a little.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Alan said, embarrassed.

  He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. He shook her hand. She motioned for him to sit back down. He did, and she sat across from him.

  “May I talk to you about your situation?” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “Jim and I run a monthly workshop that meets the first Monday of every month for people like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “Yes. People who are struggling to make ends meet, who are unemployed or underemployed or have too much debt and are having difficulty financially. Many people want to commit suicide in these situations. We address that too. We hope you don’t mind, but we discussed what you told Jim earlier. Would you like to come to the workshop?”

  “That would be good, except I’m about to become homeless in the morning. I have no money and my credit cards are at their limits. And I have no job. As of tomorrow, Poof and I are on the street.”

  “Is that your daughter?”

  “My kitty.”

  “Alan, we can help you. If you don’t mind boarding at a church member’s home, that is. There are rules though.”

  “What rules? I’ll take anything.”

  “While you live there, you must be of good character. No drinking, no drugs.”

  “No problem there.”

  “Do you smoke.”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. I think we have a place for you. We have an elderly couple who will take in a boarder with a cat. Let me get a hold of them. It might be difficult today. But in the morning, I should be able to call them. When do you have to be out of your room?”

  “Eleven tomorrow.”

  “What motel are you staying at?”

  “The Sunrise. Room 18.”

  “I will call your room tomorrow after I talk to them. If you don’t hear from me or Jim by checkout, bring your cat and your stuff and come over to the church. And we’ll get you a place to stay. Sound good?”

  “Yeah, it sounds real good.’

  Relief waved over him. He beamed.

  “Good,” Amy said.
“Have you had enough to eat?”

  “Nope.”

  Alan pulled his plate back to him.

  “Oh, can I take some food back for Poof? She hasn’t eaten since yesterday either.”

  “I’ll get some turkey scraps for her,” Amy said.

  She stood up and left the table. Alan ate some more ham – a little cold, but that was alright. Amy returned with some turkey liver, neck and a wing wrapped in foil. He thanked her and finished his plate. His stomach couldn’t take anymore. He patted his gut and leaned back. He felt a belch coming on but let it out with a breath. He got up and put his coat on, stuffing the foiled turkey in his pocket.

  Alan made his way to the dessert table and took some green and red tree-shaped cookies, Nanaimo bars, and some blue and white bell-shaped sugar cookies. He put the treats into his other pocket.

  “As God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again,” Alan said.

  “Gone With the Wind,” the woman next to him said.

  And he was.

  Chapter Eight

  Alan arrived at his cheap motel room and entered to a loud meow. Poof hungered, and she let him know it. Alan took the foil package and opened it. The turkey meat had been removed from the bones and, along with the liver, cut into small pieces. Exactly what he needed to feed his little kitty. He spread the foil out on the floor, and Poof attacked the turkey.

  He took his coat off and that’s when the smell caught him.

  “Phew.”

  He let a blast of air out his mouth.

  “Someone dropped a load in here. Poof?”

  He searched the room and found the poop by the bathtub with a puddle of cat pee nearby. He took some toilet paper – lots of it – and cleaned Poof’s poop up.

  “You stinky thing.”

  But he knew he couldn’t blame her. He had no litter box. Last night, he wasn’t expecting to find kitten, let alone be alive. He wondered what he could do. Nothing came to him. She would have to go on the floor, and he would clean it up. The Sunrise Motel people wouldn’t be happy. Oh, well.