Once there was a woman who had a cat whom she dearly loved. She had fur as white as fresh cream and as soft as silk, on her long, slim legs and on her neck and belly. Her head and back were grey and tan, and her eyes were as green as spring grass.
One night the woman woke and felt Belle (because that was the cat’s name) lying on the duvet behind her knees. She felt Belle sit up.
‘Rosie,’ the cat whispered, ‘the sun is rising. Can you feed me and let me out?’
‘It’s dark and I’m still tired,’ the woman groaned. ‘Lie down and go back to sleep.’
‘If you let me out, I’ll grant you a wish,’ Belle said, because she was really a jinn in disguise.
Rosie no longer felt tired. ‘It’s coming up to Christmas,’ she said, ‘and Wee Billy wants one of the latest phones. We don’t have the money to buy one.’
Belle tensed. ‘I don’t think that’s a very wise wish,’ she said. ‘You know that Wee Billy is a spoiled pup who already has a perfectly good phone.’ She languidly stretched out one elegant leg and then drew it slowly back. ‘It’s not the number of electronic gadgets you have that’s important. It’s the use you make of them; In my opinion a good book would be better but, if a phone is what you want, massage my head and you will have your wish.’
So, Rosie massaged the top of Belle’s head, and behind her ears and the front of her neck, until the cat suddenly jumped off the bed. Rosie eased herself out from between the sheets so as not to wake her husband, and slipped her feet into her slippers. Belle tripped lightly down the stairs and into the kitchen where she sat, looked up at the woman and licked her lips. Rosie took a tray of rabbit and chicken terrine from the cupboard, opened it, knifed it on to a plate and set it on the floor beside Belle. The cat ate what she liked, pushing the rest to the edge of the plate, then walked towards the back door. When Rosie opened it, she stood sniffing the cold December air, her green eyes checking for signs of life in the winter-stripped garden, until she was satisfied it was safe to venture out. Rosie closed the door on the grey light of dawn and went back upstairs. Her husband put his arm around her and they were soon asleep.
She was setting the table for breakfast when she heard a cry outside the back door and opened it. Belle came in with something in her mouth and dropped it at Rosie’s feet. The woman picked it up and knew immediately that she had in her hands the most up-to-date mobile phone in the whole wide world.
Rosie hid the phone in the cubby hole under the stairs. It was ten days before Christmas and, as well as doing her ordinary work, she had cards to write, presents to buy and shopping to do for extra and luxury food.
Night after night, Belle watched Wee Billy tweeting his friends when he came back from school and then, after dinner, leaving the house. She jumped on to the low table beside the sitting room window, and from there slipped behind the curtains. Through her spring green eyes, in the light of the street lamps and that leaking from houses, the fish and chip shop and the supermarket, she saw Wee Billy walk towards a group of men and boys who stood waving flags. They straddled the street preventing traffic from passing down it. When the police came they attacked them, and they attacked any stranger who came within range. The uproar continued until midnight, and then Billy came home.
Five days before Christmas, while her husband watched videos on his computer and Wee Billy rioted, Rosie switched on her favourite hospital drama, then sat on the sofa to gaze at the forty-two inch screen. Belle immediately jumped on her knee, sitting upright and holding her head back so that Rosie could stroke her silky neck before she curled up on the warm lap and closed her eyes. Rosie, exhausted, soon fell asleep but woke suddenly when her body started to tilt to one side.
‘I wish. I wish,’ she found herself saying, ‘that someone would do the rest of the Christmas shopping for me.’
‘Massage my head and bring me a saucer of milk,’ Belle whispered, ‘and you will have your wish.’
So Rosie began to massage the cat’s head and, as she did so, Belle said, ‘I’ve been watching Wee Billy going out to riot once he has finished his dinner. Why don’t you ask him to help you?’
‘That’s not possible,’ the woman replied firmly.
‘Oh!’ the cat said. ‘I just thought I’d ask. What you are asking me to do is not easy, but tell me what you need,’
‘Six tins of sweets, three tins of chocolate biscuits,’ the woman began.
The cat looked at her steadily, pupils widening from a thin dark slit to a round black hole, as she continued her list. ‘Do all humans revert to their childhood at Christmas?’ she asked.
‘Women don’t,’ Rosie protested indignantly. ‘For us Christmas is a time of great responsibily. We have to make sure our family gets everything the neighbours get, what the whole country has come to expect.’
‘Then bring me the milk,’ Belle said, ‘and I’ll be off.’
When she had lapped as much milk as she wanted, Belle crossed the room to the window, sprang from the low table on to the sill and, when Rosie drew back the curtains and opened the window, she disappeared into the night.
She had not returned the next morning when the man and woman went to work and Billy to school, and she was still missing when they sat down to eat their dinner.
‘Looks like she’s been run over by a car, or poisoned,’ the man said.
‘It’ll be a very sad Christmas without her,’ the woman said, and her already red eyes filled with fresh tears.
Billy put down his knife and fork, blew his nose and said nothing.
Then the door bell rang.
‘I’ll go,’ the man said.
Through the open kitchen door Rosie and Billy heard voices. Suddenly Billy jumped up. ‘Heck! It’s my Biology teacher,’ he cried. ‘I’m away out of here.’
His father came into the kitchen, his arms full of tins of sweets which he left on the table. A young woman followed him carrying in both hands plastic carrier bags which she too left on the table.
‘Your Christmas shopping,’ she said, but before Rosie could thank her, she had gone, only to return with a large cardboard box which she left on the floor. ‘Back in a minute,’ she said. ‘Just a few more bags.’
‘You’ll have a cup of tea,’ Rosie invited.
‘Sorry, I can’t stay,’ the teacher told her. ‘My kids are in a nativity play and we have to get ready.’
When he was sure she had gone, Billy came out of his bedroom. On the landing, sitting on the carpet over a warm pipe was Belle, their cat. He bent down and stroked her head. ‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ he said tenderly. ‘We all missed you.’
When Rosie went to bed she found Belle already ensconced on the duvet.
‘Billy didn’t go out rioting tonight, Rosie,’ she whispered
‘How I wish it would continue!’
‘That’s the best wish you ever made. Massage my head and your wish will be granted.’
