Image of Boots who lives with Santa Clause 

The Story of Boots 

The aroma of turkey roasting drew me into the kitchen. I rubbed up against Mrs. Clause legs and purred until she looked down at me.

“Boots, please. You’ll get your serving of turkey when it’s ready. Do you want something now? Leftovers?” she said, walking to the refrigerator, and pulling out last night’s salmon. She forked a nice piece of tender pink fish on a plate for me. Instead of setting my breakfast plate in its usual spot on the floor, she put my breakfast in the corner.

Ah, I thought she didn’t want to step on me. Mrs. Clause’s clattering pans and music woke me up around dawn. That’s when I do my rounds, chasing out any little critters brave enough to enter on my watch.

Mrs. Clause was cookie-happy, a result of too much sugar mixed with excitement that all coalesces on Christmas Eve. When I sauntered into the kitchen, she was dancing around to “Wonderful Christmastime.”   

Despite her jolly figure, that woman could move like someone half a century younger. When the Mrs. moved to the music so did the tiny red and green pompons on her apron. When I was a kitten, I’d jump and swat each fuzzy ball while she worked in the kitchen.

I finished the cold salmon and licked my lips. That should hold me over until the noon-time feast. I retreated to the great room.

She turned down the music. Finally, peace and quiet to take a morning nap, I thought. Mr. Clause and I were sitting in front of the fireplace. I curled up on the braided rug and he slumped in his cushy rose-colored red recliner. When Santa wore his Union Jack red coveralls, like today, all I saw was his long white beard.

“Goodness gracious as reindeer fly, look at the time. Santa! Have you fed the reindeer yet?” Mrs. Clause said, or shouted at Mr. Clause, because he hadn’t put his hearing aids in yet.    

  “Thanks for reminding me. Boots, let’s go!” Santa said.

“Alright, I’ll follow along,” I said, even though it meant snow up to my knees. I didn’t like wet paws either, but the barn was warm and dry. Besides, I hadn’t talked to my reindeer friends for a few days.

Santa hoisted the special sack of feed on his left shoulder, and led the way to the barn.  The air was crisp and chilly. Santa always avoided saying phrases like freezing cold though I had heard him use some blue language with the temperature dipped to record lows one year.  

The reindeers’ lodging had more amenities than a typical barn. What Rudolph asked for, he got. He turned the barn into a club house with a large game room, an exercise area with the latest equipment, and he added central air and heat. That red-nosed charmer had clout with the Clause family. 

Santa pounded on the door then let himself in the barn. Rudolph greeted the two of us, and kicked the door shut. The two opened the feed sack and filled the trough. I sneezed thanks to those magic sprinkles flying off the feed.

“Bless you Boots,” Santa said.

He milled around talking to the team while I talked to Rudolph about what he had been reading. Lately, he said he only had time to read children’s books to his daughter. But her favorite stories were those he told her about learning to fly.

“Eat up! We have a big night,” Santa said, and he waved goodbye.

“Boots, remember your mouser days in the barn? We sure depended on you,” Santa said.

I felt like I earned my keep back then. But a robot replaced me. Sad, but true that a machine without whiskers could manage.

Santa must have sensed my sadness. “Boots, you’re living your best cat life now or best nine lives. Ho! Ho! Ho!”

Steps away from the house, Santa scooped me up and carried me the last few steps. Inside, he dried my paws.

I returned to the fireplace for a refreshing nap.

Mrs. Clause called us to our noon dinner – just us without the elves and their horrible table manners. My plate had a huge helping of moist dark turkey meat, leaving me satisfied.  

The Clauses limited their conversation to the olden days. Mr. Clause did all the clean up while Mrs. Clause sat by the fire. She wasn’t one for naps but allowed herself to doze off in the rocking chair. Santa settled into his chair with a book but soon the book rested in his lap and closed his eyes.

A cell phone alarm sounded, and Santa fumbled with buttons turning it off. He went back to snoozing. The old-fashioned grandfather clock chimed six times.

That should wake him up I thought.

He didn’t move, so I pulled his pantleg. Still, no movement.

  I sprang into Santa’s lap and meowed in his ear.  

“Meow. Santa, wake up!” I cried. 

He didn’t stir. Dang, he took his hearing aids out.

I jumped down and paced between the two sleeping Clauses. Pacing and meowing. Meowing and howling. Mrs. Clause was snoring as she rocked. Rocking chairs made me nervous, always have.

The clock chimed once for the half hour.

Could I open the door letting a cold blast of air inside the house? I jumped as high as I could to reach the door knob. Three times, I tried. I knocked the jingle bells from the doorknob.

Another idea.

I grabbed the bells in my mouth jingling all the way. Jingle jangle. Reindeer bells. I stood at the foot of Santa’s chair shaking my head making a racket and getting dizzy.

 Don’t panic, I told myself. Think. I jumped onto the windowsill where I do some of my best thinking (napping) to save Christmas. Looking around the room, a tall glass vase caught my eye. What if?

What if I got in trouble? I could live out my days in the barn. Not really a punishment.

But to reach the mantle, I had to jump from the rocking chair whose constant back and forth worried me. Could I keep my tail from getting squished? Could I nail the landing on the narrow ledge?

I bounded into Mrs. Clause’s lap, jumped onto the back of the chair, and leaped onto the mantle. Balancing on three paws, I swatted the vase, which was heavier than it looked.

Don’t give up, I thought. I fought the vase like a boxer, right hook, left jab, and a hard right hook. Sweat dripped down my back. I had not exercised much this year. But a blazing fire burned in the fireplace.

Deep breath. I put my whole body into the punch. Ka-Boom! The vase shattered on the floor.

“What! What time is it?” Santa roared, waking up Mrs. Clause.

 He looked at his phone, saw the time and all the missed calls from Rudolph. I made my way to hide behind the curtain when Santa saw me.

“Boots, did you do that?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

It’s always best to confess. I meowed.

“You saved Christmas my friend,” Santa said.

Mrs. Clause opened her eyes, looked at Santa, the mess, and me. Her smile told me she understood what happened, and that I wouldn’t be living my last lives out in the barn.