Meowy Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal Page 4

  She pointed, and Journi looked to see Santa Claus running for his life below them. The sleigh was so near the ground now that Journi could have reached down and brushed the topiaries if she’d been inclined. Ahead, a tunnel loomed, the snow-capped stone arch bearing a patinated bronze sign that announced Rodentia Row and depicted a rat on either side, their tails entwined beneath the word. A curtain of twinkling lights hung from the arch, filling the mouth of the tunnel with a welcoming glow.

  “If he makes it in there, I’ll never find him!” Gramma Jude yelled.

  She was right. Rodentia Row was a city beneath a city. A warren of twisting passageways cluttered with shops, restaurants, and dwellings, it was home to a large percentage of Columbus’s wererodent population. Mice, rats, gophers, coypus, capybaras, and so on. And like their standard counterparts, wererodents were adept at procreation. Rodentia Row was loud, chaotic, and a hive of activity twenty-four hours a day. Once inside, Santa would disappear into its labyrinthine depths without a trace.

  Wielding the reins in one hand, Gramma Jude fired a streak of energy at Santa, blasting a blackened crater in the snowy path just inches behind his boots.

  “Gramma Jude!” Journi shouted. “If we don’t get this cat to Juniper Way by midnight, a little boy will die.”

  By intercepting Santa, Journi and Gramma Jude had inadvertently put Milo’s life in danger, and it was up to them to make it right.

  Before it was too late.

  Stowing her wand, Gramma Jude whipped off her glasses and pushed up the sleeve of her sweater to look at her bare, bony wrist which bore nothing but wrinkles and freckles. She looked at Journi, all trace of excitement gone. “That’s fifteen minutes from now.”

  The kitten squeezed its fuzzy head out of the jacket’s zipper and sniffed Journi’s chin. She felt a telltale rumble against her chest a moment later and scowled. Not only had she squealed like a stuck pig more times than she cared to admit tonight, but she’d made a kitten purr. She wasn’t sure her reputation would ever recover.

  “Hence my impatience!” Journi exclaimed.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so!” Gramma Jude scolded and then pulled up hard on the reins. “Change of plans, boys!”

  At her command, the reindeer veered sharply to the left and upward, abandoning their fleeing master as they altered course. Both Journi and Gramma Jude looked down at Santa as they flew on. He drew to a breathless stop just feet from the entrance to Rodentia Row, leaning over to grasp his knees as he watched them go, his face a mask of exhaustion and confusion.

  Gramma Jude shook her fist at him and bellowed, “This ain’t ho-ho-hover, you jolly bastard!”

  Journi stared at her in dismay. “You did not just say that.”

  Snapping the reins, Gramma Jude only grinned as they soared into the night.

  Chapter Nine

  See that crazy old lady over there?

  The sleigh slid to a jingling halt before the Juniper Way brownstone at exactly five minutes to midnight.

  Both Gramma Jude’s and Journi’s eyebrows were frozen white and their cheeks chapped as they stared up at the home, shivering. They’d crossed the city sky at a breakneck pace, tearing headlong into the snow that had finally begun falling, and Journi was quite sure she’d never be warm again. Seemingly oblivious to the cold, the reindeer waited patiently, occasionally shaking their antlers or pawing idly at the snowy street, the sound of their creaking harnesses and jingle bells the only sounds to be heard throughout the otherwise-sleeping neighborhood. Around them, delicate snowflakes drifted down, just as they had in Journi’s vision, and she watched their gentle descent in the warm glow of the lampposts, a profound sense of relief filling her.

  They’d made it.

  Leaning forward, Gramma Jude flipped a silver toggle on the sleigh’s dashboard, and a panel lifted with a whisper to reveal a . . . fireplace. Defying all logic, cozy flames crackled on the hearth, at once imbuing the air with welcome heat.

  She glared at Gramma Jude. “Really?”

  The old witch shrugged and rubbed her hands together in front of the magical mantel. “What? I was distracted.”

  “I’m pretty sure I have frostbite on my extremities!”

  Gramma Jude scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic.”

  Deciding there was no use in arguing with the impossible woman, Journi checked on the kitten. It had fallen asleep inside the relative warmth of her jacket, curled against her chest in a tight ball, its incessant purring reverberating throughout her rib cage.

  “Cute,” Gramma Jude observed.

  “I guess.” Journi sniffed. She’d long ago sworn off all things feline and was convinced they existed solely to annoy her.

  On cue, the rightmost door of the brownstone opened quietly, and the bundled form of Milo slipped out. After closing the door ever so gently behind him, he turned and froze.

  Gramma Jude spat a stream of tobacco juice and held up a hand, looking like a semi-thawed Beverly Hillbillies extra. “’Sup?”

  Momentarily too stunned to speak, Milo stared at the sleigh and its unlikely passengers in open-mouthed awe.

  Journi hopped down and walked over to him with the sleeping kitten still stuffed in her jacket. When she reached the bottom of the brownstone’s steps, she offered the kid her best non-threatening smile. “Hey, Milo.”

  Tearing his gaze away from the reindeer, he stared at her with round eyes as snowflakes gathered on the fur trim of his hood. Taking in her six-inch platform combat boots, black jeans, black-leather jacket, and array of tats and piercings, he asked hesitantly, “Are you Santa?”

  Journi smirked. “No. You can think of me as his . . . helper.”

  From the sleigh, Gramma Jude snorted.

  Milo blinked. “Like an elf?”

  Though Journi had met a few elves and had found them more than a little pretentious, she nodded for the sake of expediency. “Sure.”

  Absorbing the news, Milo looked around her again. Despite her and Gramma Jude’s questionable appearances, there was no denying the authenticity of the sleigh and reindeer. One look at it and you knew.

  “Santa is real,” Milo whispered, more to himself than Journi.

  “Sure is,” Journi confirmed. “And he’s probably my grandpa.”

  Milo looked at her, his eyebrows leaping. “Cool!”

  Despite finding it anything but cool, Journi agreed, “Way.” Then, unzipping her bulging jacket, she added, “And he asked me to give you this.”

  When Milo saw the snuggled ginger tabby kitten nestled inside, he gasped, blinking not once but thrice as if trying to process the sight. “A cat!”

  “Indeed,” Journi said, pulling it out and holding it up for Milo. “So, do you want this thing or not?”

  Sitting in the cradle of her palms, the kitten yawned and then meowed when a snowflake landed on its nose.

  Milo raced down the steps.

  Journi passed the kitten to him, and he accepted it gently, cupping his mittens around it to keep it warm. He looked at Journi in wonderment. “It’s really mine?”

  “It’s really yours,” she confirmed, rezipping her jacket and hugging herself for warmth. “Its name is Steve.”

  Milo’s eyebrows rose. “Steve?”

  “Don’t ask me,” she replied with a grimace. “It’s on the ribbon.”

  Milo examined the embroidered inscription. “Steve,” he murmured, then grinned. “I love it.”

  “Glad somebody does,” she said dryly, then grew serious. “Now, about that flyer in your pocket.”

  Milo looked up at her in shock, his mouth parting. “How did you know about that?”

  “A Christmas miracle,” she told him. “And I won’t tell Santa as long as you promise never to do it again.”

  Milo nodded eagerly. “I won’t.”

  “Good.”

  Holding the kitten against his face, he giggled when its whiskers tickled his nose. “What do I tell my mom?”

  “Tell her the truth. He’s from Santa.”<
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  Milo nodded as if it was an acceptable answer. “Okay.” Then, frowning, he added, “But my dad says I can’t have a cat because of his dumb girlfriend’s allergy.” His expression became distressed. “He’ll never let me keep Steve.”

  Having thought of this particular roadblock during the flight over, Journi gestured at Gramma Jude with her chin. “See that crazy old lady over there?”

  He looked and saw Gramma Jude lean over the edge of the sleigh with one thumb pressed against her left nostril. As they watched, she heaved a breath and blew out an impressive string of snot. Snorting, she dragged her sweater sleeve across her face.

  Milo cringed. “Yeah?”

  Journi cringed too. “That’s my grandma.” Turning back to the kid, she continued. “She’s a witch, and she put a spell on Steve.”

  Milo’s eyes widened again. “She did? What kind of spell?”

  “A spell that makes him hypoallergenic.”

  His brows drew together. “What’s hyperallergenenic?”

  Journi winked wickedly. “It means Steve won’t make your dad’s dumb girlfriend sneeze.”

  Milo grinned. “Awesome.”

  From behind them came the delightful sound of Gramma Jude working up a hocker. Journi cast her eyes heavenward and sighed before refocusing on Milo. “Look, kid, I gotta go. Take off your mitten.”

  He immediately did as she asked without question and offered her his bare hand.

  She took it and demanded, “No more solo trips at midnight. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “And take care of Steve.”

  “I will.”

  “You have to feed him and clean his litter box. Not your mom.” Journi glared at him menacingly. “Santa will know.”

  Milo swallowed. “I’ll do it. I promise.”

  “Okay,” Journi relented, releasing his hand. “Now go.”

  Without another word, he turned and hurried up the steps with his new furry friend. Before slipping inside, however, he paused and glanced back at Journi. “Merry Christmas.”

  She smiled. A little. She still thought kids were cootie-infested ankle-biters, after all. “Merry Christmas.”

  And then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him. A moment later, he appeared in the bay window with Steve. Milo raised a mitten in farewell.

  Journi waved back and then returned to the sleigh.

  As she climbed in, Gramma Jude regarded her with amusement. “Journi McCutcheon. Saving Christmas with a kitten. Imagine that.”

  Journi scowled at her. “You sure you don’t want to blow your nose some more? I think there’s a spot across the street that didn’t end up with snot on it.”

  Gramma Jude rubbed said nose with her fist, looking unrepentant. “Ready to go?”

  Journi glanced across the sidewalk at Milo. When she’d taken his de-mittened hand and made him vow to properly look after Steve, she’d called upon her soothsaying abilities. The kid’s future was once again bright, and the only nightmare his mother would have to endure was navigating the shark-infested waters of shared parenting. Even dear old dad would go on to marry his twenty-something bride who would later leave him for a musician named Flint. As for Steve, well, he had seventeen spoiled years ahead of him and would eventually attend Milo’s own wedding wearing a tattered, stained, too-small ribbon around his neck embroidered with the barely legible words Hi, my name is Steve!

  “Yeah,” Journi said with a faint smile. “I’m ready to go.”

  Nodding, Gramma Jude chk-chked the reindeer into motion. Milo flattened one palm against the window, his mouth an awestruck O as he watched them jingle down the street and lift off in a spray of sparkling snow.

  As Gramma Jude urged the reindeer in an upward curve, directing them back toward Rodentia Row, she looked over at Journi with a twinkle in her eye and grinned, asking, “Should we?”

  For once, Journi knew what she meant. She grinned back. “We should.”

  And as they passed over the snow-capped trees and rooftops of Juniper Way, they shouted at the top of their lungs, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

  Epilogue

  All’s fair in love and ending feline overpopulation.

  “You’re late,” Aunt Frieda declared the moment Journi shouldered the Hissing Booth’s glass door open, doing her best not to drop the bags of candy canes, boxes of hot cocoa, and packages of to-go cups she carried. “And where is your granny?”

  “Christmas crisis,” Journi explained breathlessly, hurrying across the shelter’s worn but festive lobby and unloading her haul on the reception counter. “Would you believe me if I said she was on a date with Santa?”

  Aunt Frieda, dressed in a silver-tinsel cat-ear headband and what was possibly the ugliest Christmas sweater ever created, helped her set up the hot chocolate station. “Where Jude McCutcheon is concerned, I’d believe anything.”

  It had taken some convincing, but eventually Gramma Jude had grudgingly agreed to give her former flame a reprieve from death row. And as it turned out, ol’ Kris had a pretty good reason for bailing on their illicit love affair. Just before he’d been about to butter the biscuit, so to speak, he’d been involuntarily teleported to the North Pole due to a wrapping paper emergency at the toy shop. By the time he’d sorted it out and returned to the scene of the copulatory crime, Gramma Jude had been in the wind. When he’d managed to track her down some months later, he’d discovered that she’d found someone new. After that, life had gotten in the way, and the opportunity to right the wrong had never presented itself. Eventually, the passing of years had burned the proverbial bridge altogether. But he’d never forgotten their brief love affair and would always regret his premature evacuation. Ahem.

  And true to Gramma Jude’s capricious nature, the old witch had considered him for a long, tense moment, then her blue eyes took on a mischievous sparkle behind her glasses. “I suddenly find myself in a forgivin’ mood,” she’d mused. “You got room on that big sleigh of yours for Santa’s little helper?”

  Though he’d been chased, shot at, and forced off a roof via peppermint parachute, Kris Kringle had grinned back at her, snowflakes glittering in his charred beard. “I sure do,” he’d confirmed, lustily eyeing the seventy-year-old grandmother as if she was just as captivating as she’d been forty-odd years ago. “I might even have a package for you in my bag.”

  What had transpired after that was a traumatizing public display of affection that would haunt Journi for the rest of her days. And as she’d watched Gramma Jude climb into the sleigh with her worse-for-wear Santa at the reins, Journi had waved, cringing as her childhood image of him as a jolly, cookie-stealing, belly-jiggling saint went up in X-rated flames.

  Journi opened a bag of miniature marshmallows and poured them into one of Frieda’s ceramic snowmen-shaped bowls. “I have reason to believe that Santa Claus could be persuaded to form a partnership with a certain shelter.”

  The veteran rescuer paused with a stack of paper cups in her hands, arching one wiry brow. “Indeed?”

  “Indeed,” Journi confirmed, moving on to the bag of chocolate chips. “As it turns out, he doesn’t just gift toys at Christmas.” She glanced pointedly at her aunt. “He gifts dogs and cats too.”

  Aunt Frieda stared at her a moment, then continued setting out the cups as if the conversation wasn’t remotely unusual. “You suggesting I take advantage of his affection for your granny?”

  Journi popped a chocolate chip in her mouth and grinned. “Yep.”

  The elder woman grinned back. “All’s fair in love and ending feline overpopulation.”

  Journi snorted in agreement. “The fewer cats in the world the better.”

  Aunt Frieda pursed her lips and unceremoniously swatted Journi upside the head.

  “Oww!” Journi cried and glared at her.

  Aunt Frieda happily ignored her, however, and instead waved at a couple wearing matching holiday sweaters as they ventured inside, dusting snow off their tobo
ggans. “Feel free to have a look around and meet the cats,” Frieda told them. “I’ll be here if you have any questions.”

  They nodded and smiled at her before making their way across the lobby to where a large tabby was batting at one of the many catnip-filled Christmas toys Aunt Frieda had scattered about the shelter.

  To Journi, Aunt Frieda instructed, “Start mixing the milk and chocolate in the slow cooker.”

  Scowling, Journi did as she was told. She might be an adult, but she would never be old enough to disobey the McCutcheon matriarchs. That didn’t mean she was above complaining. “This is child labor.”

  Aunt Frieda looked unimpressed. “You’re twenty-seven.”

  As Journi began adding milk and hot cocoa mix to the slow cooker, she eyed the black cat weaving between her calves, the bells on its collar jingling. “I should be getting paid for this.”

  “Just think of it as your good deed for the year.”

  Journi shook the remaining cocoa into the concoction, then paused. “Wait, you say that like it’s my only one.”

  Only Aunt Frieda’s attention had turned to the ancient TV mounted to the wall above the rack o’ flyers containing everything you never wanted to know about felines. Adjusting her trademark cat-eye spectacles, Frieda planted her hands on her hips and stared up at the dusty screen with one eyebrow arched. “What in tarnation?”

  Stirring the hot chocolate, Journi put the lid on the slow cooker and joined her aunt, hovering the ladle over her palm to catch any drips. When she saw what was displayed on the TV, her mouth parted.

  “This is Rebecca Grant reporting live from Millennium Gardens Mall where the holiday spirit is in full swing,” a tall, slender reporter with pointed, elven ears was saying into a mic. Bundled in festive knits, she looked cozy amidst the gently falling snow as lights twinkled in the background. And though her expression was slightly bewildered, her smile was genuine. “An unplanned concert performed by a mysterious crooner dubbed the Christmas Cowboy has amassed quite an audience. CPD and CST units are live on the scene to monitor the crowd and direct traffic. Let’s listen in on the impromptu parking lot performance now.”