SAMHAIN'S CATMUS STORY - (PART I of THREE PARTS)

[SNOOZE ALERT! This is another of my interminably long, three-part stories - with a decided nod to Charles Dickens. :)]

“Tell us a story,” Fearless said sleepily from the blankie in front of the woodstove. Socks stretched beside her and yawned. Samhain, on the couch, saw him and opened wide with a cavernous yawn of her own, her fangs flashing in the rosy glow from the fire.
“What kind of story?” she asked.
“A Catmus-y one!, A scary one!” Fearless and Socks answered together.
“Both,” Sleeper murmured from the catbed on the Mama’s table.
Samhain stretched, settled herself more comfortably, and began:

“There once was ‘a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner’ named Socks McScrooge…”
“Wait a minute! Why am I the bad guy?!”
“Because I’M telling the story – do you want to hear this or not?”
Disgruntled mutters and silence.

“This guy was so mean he wouldn’t spare a farthing for his employee MILO Cratchit to buy coal for the fire.”
“What’s a farthing?” Fearless meowed.
“SHHHH!!!” three voices hissed at her.

“And it was really really COLD that day before Catmus. So cold that the Mama had to change the water in the Feral’s water bowl three times during the day because it kept freezing.” Socks shuddered.
“And this Socks McScrooge wouldn’t let MILO Cratchit go home early to be with his family, Mrs. Murphy Cratchit and Tiny Gris Cratchit even though it was Catmus Eve! Instead he had to sit in that cold room scratching away at McScrooge’s accounts, and only had Bob the Cricket for company. Poor MILO!

“Just then the door opened and it was Sock’s nephew Tiger and his wife Natasha. They’d come to ask their uncle to their annual Catmus Eve party, just as they did every year, but mean ol’ Socks sent them away saying ‘Humbug! Keep Catmus in your own way, and I’ll keep it in mine!’ ‘But you don’t keep it,’ said Tiger. ‘Then let me leave it alone!’ he roared, following them out on the street shaking his fisted paw at them, his fur on end.

“As he stood watching them leave, three gentlecats by the names of Toki, Monster and Master Zack approached him. Toki swept his tophat off his head and gave a graceful bow. ‘Good evening, Mr. McScrooge,’ he said. ‘The best of the holiday season to you, sir,' exclaimed Master Zack, stretching forth a paw, which McScrooge pointedly ignored. Monster smiled and stepped forward, ‘We’re here collecting for the Humane Society. At this festive time of year especially, we know that in view of the fact that you are a former feral, you will no doubt be happy to donate something to help others less fortunate than yourself.’ ‘No doubt I wouldn’t!’ he replied. ‘Good day, gentlemen!’ And with that, he went back inside and slammed the door.

“At last it was 5:00 PM, and MILO gathered his things along with the begrudged promise of the next day off to celebrate Catmus. McScrooge was less than pleased as he closed the shop and headed to his meager dinner and bed beyond. The house seemed darker and colder than usual, the fire in his bedroom barely giving off any heat at all. It seemed as if Socks had only just lay down, when there was a flash of light and the incongruous smell of catnip. There at the foot of his bed was a beautiful striped cat with a red and white striped sparkling stocking cap on her head and a wreath of catnip around her (rather large) waist!”
[“It’s me”, Sleeper said.]
“She twinkled and laughed at him merrily: ‘Socks McScrooge – I am the Ghost of Catmus Past!’ ‘Long past?’ Socks queried. ‘No, YOUR past, you idiot! Rise and walk with me!’ “Socks felt compelled to do as he was bid.”
[“Dang straight – if he doesn’t want a smackey-paw!” Sleeper stage-whispered.]
“He took her paw and flew with her to a scene from a Catmus past when the pawrents had rescued him from a cold deserted building and brought him back to a shelter of warmth, food, friends and love.”
[The real Socks pretended he was stretching as he furtively wiped a tear from his eye.]
“All was joy and gaiety around him; though the food was simple – (and they had to share it with possums and raccoons.) But the friendships were slow to form for this outsider, and he held himself aloof from the others, as being a stray only one generation removed from domesticity and, therefore better than the several-generation ferals.”

[“I want to make it perfectly clear, that I do NOT feel this way about my feral friends!” Socks stated loudly. “Shhhh!” Three voices shushed him.]

Samhain continued: “ ‘Spirit! Remove me from this place; I cannot bear it!’ McScrooge cried in a broken voice. In the next moment he was back in his bed as if it had all been a dream!”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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