Cat's Christmas
Chapter 1: The First Letter
Father Christmas, Chris Cringle, Pere Noel, Saint Nicholas, Santa Clause, there were so many different names he answered to. By now all recognised him to be the same jolly fat man with the gleaming eyes, the flowing white beard, and often a pair of gold, half-moon spectacles sitting on his cherry nose, that it no longer mattered what they called him. All the letters reached him at his workshop in the North Pole regardless of the name on the envelope.
One letter in particular had his attention this day, with just a week until his big run, delivering stuff now more than toys. This letter had him in a grand mood, and made him feel young again, something that had not happened for well over seven hundred years.
Dear Mister Cringle, sir,
For Christmas this year, I don't want anything for myself, not particularly any way, I heard Mummy talking to Daddy about getting a swing set, but that would be for everyone, not just me.
I have an auntie, only she isn't really my auntie, I just call her that, and even when she's smiling, she seems to still be sad inside. When I asked her what she wanted for Christmas, she said that she what she wanted wouldn't come in a box with a bow. Mummy says auntie wants someone to love her, but I love her, only it doesn't seem to be the kind of love auntie is looking for.
I was wondering, Mister Cringle sir, if you could find out what it is that will take the sadness out of auntie, and maybe find some way to give it to her for Christmas. That's what I would like for Christmas, please Mister Cringle.
From Tsuge Hiroshi Junior
The old man smiled a beaming smile and passed the letter to his wife, taking the tray of fresh biscuits from her and shifting them to a plate, ringing the bell for his elves to come and have their morning tea.
"Oh, Chris, this little boy is such a dear. We just have to try," she said, a hand over her chest as she read the letter.
"I agree Mary," he said, taking the letter back and looking it over again. Taking a brass funnel off its hook in the wall, he whistled down, "Pumpernickel," he called, getting another whistle in reply.
"What's the job boss?" the voice on the other end replied eagerly.
Smiling, a happy glint in his eye, the old man explained the situation to his best watching elf. The old song was not completely right: he did not see every child as they slept, but he had elves stationed around the globe, telling him of all that happened in the world beyond the workshop. Soon, this auntie would have her very own elf watching over her, trying to find out what it was that she truly wanted for Christmas.