A Christmas Tail - This was a request story at Christmas, when there seemed to be a lack of fiction in the Cats community. That explain, this is why it's a Christmas story being posted now - I forgot to upload it before.

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Hidden in the shadows, a single figure lurked, listening inobtrusively in on the excited conversations of the Jellicle kittens, mentally taking notes of all that was being discussed in the shrill, chirpy voices.

"I hope I get a catnip mouse this year!" Tumblebrutus exclaimed eagerly.

Pouncival gave a snort of laughter. "You got one of them last year and you killed it!"

The brown- and white-furred one of the twins glared at his brother with a sniff. "I only tore it cos you stole it and I wanted to get it back. It was your fault. You made me fight over it."

"And he made you stick your claws in it and tear it to pieces?" Etcetera giggled maniacally, rocking back and forward, laughing so hard that she overbalanced and fell backwards, only to roll straight into a somersault. "Yeah right, Tumble!"

"I did not stick my claws into!" Tumblebrutus flared indignantly. "He tore his, so he decided to tear mine as well!"

Pouncival tried not to look too guilty. "Yeah, but you stole my ball!"

"Erm..." Electra raised a paw, a sheepish grin on her face. "Actually, that was me and Jemima. We didn't have a ball and Carbucketty said it would be okay." The tan and white tom looked up at his name, a startled look on his face as he was abruptly tackled by a howling Pouncival.

"I want a ball." Jemima put in quietly, ignoring the wrestling toms. "I always want a ball for Christmas and my humans don't seem to notice." She sighed softly, working her claws into the earth. "All I want is a little ball."

"Proper ball or yarn ball?" Twitching one ear lazily, Plato raised his head, yawning. "I haven't had a good yarn ball to play with since Mungo took a liking to mine."

"Yarn balls have nothing on squeaker toys." Etcetera giggled dementedly, clapping her paws in excitement. "When you, like, jump on them and they, like, squeak! Wow! It's, like, so cool!"

"Alternatively, we let skitz kit here suck the helium balloons." Victoria put in dryly, as Etcetera spotted something of apparent interest and pounced on it, only to find it was – in fact – attached to her and was – also in fact – her tail.

"Or the laughing gas." Bill Bailey put in with a smirk, grabbing the still-fighting Pouncival's tail and giving it a sharp tug, before looking away innocently as the little tom whipped round to find his mystery assailant.

Sillabub shrugged. "You want to make the hyper giggle-meister worse, go ahead." She remarked, watching the tom kittens suspiciously, warily.

"Ooh! Guys!" Etcetera's fascinated voice made them turn. "This is, like, so cool!"

"What now?"

The multi-coloured queen was stretched out on her belly on the ground, her eyes fixed intently on something just in front of her. "That!" She pointed at the object, prodding it with a claw, making it glint and sparkle. "Like, wow!"

"I repeat," Victoria rose, her boredom at the simple task apparent. "What now?"

Snatching up her prize, Etcetera rolled onto her back with a shriek of a giggle, her eyes dancing. "It's, like, a spike from one of Tugger's old collars! This is, like, the coolest thing, like, ever!"

"Like, it is?" Plato mimicked her, raising one eyebrow sceptically.

"It's, like, all that I would ever want!" Hugging it to her, the littlest of the kittens purred happily, her paws wrapped protectively around her most precious possession.

"And I thought wanting a pink ribbon was a bad thing." Victoria sighed, returning to her spot beside Jemima, once again glad she had got over her Tugger-bopper stage.

Electra curled in a small ball, her body becoming a solid mass of thick brown, black and grey fur. "I dunno what I want." She scratched her ear with her hind paw. "Maybe a bottle cap or something shiny to play with." She glanced at her friend. "Why a pink bow, Victoria?"

"Why not a bath?" Carbucketty enquired shrewdly, wiggling his rear in the air, taking careful aim with a big pile of dust.

Holding up her paws, Victoria ducked behind the twins, Sillabub and Jemima. "Don't you dare!" She squealed, shielding her perfect, glossy, milk-white fur. "If you throw that, I swear I'll…"

"You'll what?" Carbucketty grinned fiendishly, the dustball sailing through the air and exploding over the three queens, showering them with thick, powdery, black mud, leaving their once-gleaming coats clogged with dirt.

"Car!" All three wailed pathetically.

Grinning, the tan and white tom ducked behind the larger form of Plato, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You'll what?" He repeated, tauntingly, sticking his pink tongue out at the trio of dirty queens.

"I tell you what we'll do." Sillabub dusted her paws down her coat. "We will pin you down, we will force you to have a bath, we will give you a full queen makeover and then we will make you have a tea party with us, if I get my new tea cup."

Carbucketty's eyes widened in sudden fear. "Can I just apologise now?" He whimpered, crouching down lower behind Plato. "I won't do it again…I promise!"

"Whaddya think, girls?" Jemima looked from her twin to the sniffling former-white-queen, trying to stifle a giggle as Victoria mournfully picked chips of dirt out of her coat, her lower lip jutted out in a permanent pout

"This is Car." Sillabub remarked. "Since when does he keep his promises?"

"If he wants a gift from Santa Claws, he'll keep it." An older voice put in.

The kittens spun to find Old Deuteronomy standing behind them, a gentle smile on his ageing features as he held out his paws to them, embracing each of the kittens with a ruffle of their fur.

"Whose Santi Claws?" Etcetera demanded, toying with her spike from Tugger's collar, attempting to attach it to her own collar somehow.

Old Deuteronomy laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. "Santa Claws is the patron Jellicle of Christmas. He has a coat of fine red and white fur and he is kind and generous and rides across the sky in a shoe box pulled by rats." He replied in his low voice. "He brings gifts for all the good little toms and queens."

"Presents?" Bill Bailey's ears twitched upright, his eyes widening with anticipation. "I wonder if he could get me a pile of wrapping paper to play with cos that would be the best thing in the entire history of the whole world and universe and everything!"

"And we aren't getting a tiny little bit optimistic about the good kitten part." Victoria sniffed again, trying to hide her interest in the subject.

"I am too a good kitten!" Bill Bailey glared at her indignantly, sticking his tongue out cheekily. "I just happen to be very good at getting in trouble."

"And don't we know it." Carbucketty sniggered. "Why not ask for a whoopee cushion or something silly? I know you want something like that."

Bill Bailey raised an eyebrow. "I think that's what you want, mate." He grinned as Carbucketty shrugged in assent. "I wonder who would be the prime victim." His eyes flicked to Old Deuteronomy, the look unnoticed by all except Carbucketty, who promptly burst out laughing.

"No way! No freakin' way!"

"Uh..." Plato looked at the two giggling tom kittens. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing." Bill Bailey replied with an almost-innocent look. "Just that Carbucketty is playing chicken as usual."

Carbucketty glared at his best friend good-naturedly. "Okay, I'll do it." He grinned wickedly. "But I'd have to get a whoopee cushion and what are the chances of that?"

Old Deuteronomy fought to hide a smile. Those kittens certainly reminded him a lot of himself at that age. He and Gus were the eternal trouble-makers in the tribe, always playing pranks on someone or other.

"About the same as me getting a chocolate-chip cookie." Pouncival put in mournfully, his dark eyes melancholy. "My humans are diet and fitness freaks. They don't even let chocolate across the thresh hold. All junk food is banned. They won't even let me have a stinkin' french fry."

"I'm sure Santa Claws could get you one." The Jellicle Leader glanced up momentarily at the shadows and saw one of the darker shadows nod once, then fade away. "Anyway," Getting to his feet, he patted each kitten on the head. "I better go. I have to…convince Munkustrap to take it easy this year."

"Good luck." Bill Bailey called after him, adding under his breath. "You're going to need it, Old guy."

"Is it just me," Plato murmured, watching the old tom's receding back. "Or is he getting more and more delusional each year?"

Tumblebrutus shrugged, pouncing on a dust ball. "Dunno. Don't care, as long as I get a present from this Santa Claws guy."

"You honestly believe a cat rides around the sky in a shoe box pulled by rats?" Jemima looked at the tom in disbelief. "Have you been eating your catnip or something?"

"Erm, hello?" Tumblebrutus gestured to the main part of the junkyard. "Big tyre that flies once a year. A single cat walks up a shiny flight of stairs into the sky. These things strike you as normal?"

Subdued glances were ruefully exchanged among the group. "Good point." Sillabub reluctantly acknowledged. "But I want to know how this Santa Claws guy knows what we all want."

"If he flies about in a shoe box, I think we should worry more about him crash-landing than what he's gonna bring us." Pouncival remarked thoughtfully. "Maybe we should make a parachute to leave out for him if he does come, just in case anything happens to his shoe box."

"So after he crashes, he staggers into our box and finds a parachute waiting and says 'Gee, whilickers, now why didn't I think of that?' before passing out and dying of head trauma?" Jemima suggested.

Plato made a face. "The eternal optimist is present and correct." He sighed, shaking his head at the little queen. "I agree with Pounce…there's something I never thought I'd say. We should leave him something…I mean, if he does come, he's probably gonna be cold and tired."

"Ooh! Ooh!" Etcetera waved a paw excitedly. "I, like, have an idea! How about we, like, leave a bowl of cream out for him so he can, like, drink it!"

"Like, what else would he do with it, Skitz kit?" Bill bailey rolled his eyes expressively, a half-grin on his face. "Do a Cleopatra?"

"Huh?" Not for the first time, Etcetera looked completely lost.

"I think we've discovered the depths of Cettie's intelligence." Electra said, dead-pan, her eyes still half-closed.

"I, like, have depths?" The multi-coloured queen's eyes lit up. "Like, cool!"

"Like, sarcasm, Cet." Plato yawned again.

"Like, what?"

All of the other kittens looked at one another, then started laughing, until tears were pouring down their cheeks, as they clung to one another.

No group of Jellicle kittens had ever been as close as those ones were.

* * *



Regarding the sleeping pile of kittens, the creature known as Santa Claws smiled, pulling his sack up over his shoulder, his sleek red and white fur freshly-washed and groomed.

Taking a sip of the cream from the dish, he unpacked the present, laying them around the kittens, in each of their favourite spots, tucking them into various hidey holes, before pausing to drink the rest of the cream and wiping of the creamy moustache he had managed to get.

"Merry Christmas, kitts." He murmured, before returning and disappearing through the back of the shoe box and under the fence.

* * *


"Look! Look!" There was a squeak followed by a round of hysterical giggling. "I, like, got a squeaker toy! I, like, got a squeaker toy!"

"We heard you the first time." Plato yawned again, stretching his leg, a frown crossing his face as his paw thumped against something. "Whoa! I got a yarn ball!" Immediately wide-awake, the tom tackled the ball, sinking his claws into it.

"Cookie!" Pouncival was silent for the next half an hour, scoffing mouthful after mouthful of chocolate chip cookie.

Victoria delicately smoothed the pink ribbon around her throat, as Jemima tackled her ball amid Bill Bailey's heap of crumpled paper, both of them tumbling, laughing, over Electra who crouched with a protective hiss over her sheet of tinfoil.

Tumblebrutus and Carbucketty both sat to one side, playing with their new toys, Carbucketty's attention entirely focused on somehow inflating his large, rubbery whoopee cushion, trying to ignore the scent drifting in from the catnip mouse that the other tom was flexing his paws around.

Climbing inside her teacup, Sillabub grinned brightly over the top, her dark eyes sparkling brightly. "I guess there is a Santa Claws." She chirped, hopping out of the cup with a grin.

"Looks like it." Plato reluctantly agreed.

* * *


Up amid the high piles of junk, Santa Claws smiled down, savouring the joy of the happy group of squealing kittens.

For one time a year, he was the best and most popular tomcat in the Jellicle world and yet, none of them would ever see his face. It wouldn't do his reputation any good to be seen as a sweet and generous tom.

"So you're still here, son?"

Pivoting, he smiled ruefully at his father. "You know me." He replied. "Always have to see what damage I've caused."

"You did a good job, as usual, son." Old Deuteronomy smiled, patting his handsome son on the shoulder, his fur still gleaming from his annual visit to the pet sanctuary. "None of them ever see you at work."

"It's like the song says." The younger tom smiled. "Macavity's not there."

Old Deuteronomy laughed softly. "I suppose that's true." He smiled lightly at his ginger-furred offspring. "But would it really do you any harm to come out from behind the secret identity?"

"I'm not called the Hidden Paw for nothing, dad." Macavity stepped away. "I'll see you next year, okay?"

"See you," Old Deuteronomy nodded, as his erstwhile son melted away silently into the shadows. "Santa Claws."