The Killer Cat's Christmas

11: Showers of falling food

WHILE I WAS looking for a way back in, the grown-ups must have cleared away the breakfast things and started to prepare for Christmas lunch. By the time I had found the only bedroom window that was unlatched, and squeezed inside, the turkey was already stuffed and trussed, and sitting forlornly in its tray, waiting to go in the oven.

I ask you. Honestly! They all go on and on about the way that I chase sparrows. But I would never treat a bird like that.

Hypocrites!

Anyhow, once it was safely in the oven (out of my reach) the four of them went through to the front room, to join the children, and unwrap the presents.

I had forgotten about the labels my tail had accidentally flicked away, out of sight under the carpet.

Uh-oh. The trouble started almost at once.

‘Who is this gift for? It doesn’t say.’

‘This one doesn’t have a label.’

‘Neither has this one. Or this.’

I couldn’t help but look a bit uncomfortable. (I hadn’t realized I’d flicked off so many.) The children rooted around, lifted their heads and wailed, ‘We’ve looked at all the presents, and not one has a label.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘We’ll simply have to guess.’

That didn’t work too well, and arguments broke out all over. ‘I think this one is probably for me.’

‘No, dear. I think that Santa brought that one for Lucilla.’

That set Lucilla off. ‘But I don’t want it, Mummy. I like this present much better.’

‘But that one was meant for Ellie.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just do, dear.’

‘You can’t read Santa’s mind!’

‘Neither can you!’

We were a little short on Christmas cheer. And then a scuffle started when Lancelot tried to snatch back a present that Ellie’s father said was not for him. The carpet rucked up underneath his shoe, and there they were – all of the labels.

And one or two telltale ginger hairs, off my tail.

‘A-ha!’ cried Ellie’s father.

Everyone turned to look at me. I turned to look at the door. I don’t think it was my fault that, just at the moment that I fled towards it, Ellie’s mother was coming in carrying a giant plate of tiny tarts and titbits and fancy little things on sticks.

I just think I was lucky that, in the showers of falling food, I managed to get clean away.