Snowdrop Kitten

Neville turned over in bed, his twelve year old brain spinning like an unoiled wheel. It was the dream again, the one where he painted a picture. He remembered the fun of mixing the paint, and the brush licking the canvas like a cat with cream … then the memory blurred, concealed behind a padlock in his mind.

Neville hated school, the thought of mixing with so many uncaring peers an unwelcome taste in his mouth each morning. Sometimes he skipped school, hanging out in the local park. The snowdrops there soothed his soul, tiny white stars of hope. A song stuttered in his heart, its words forgotten, dying somewhere deep inside.

Today, he noticed for the first time the snowdrops in his own garden, under the lone tree he loved to climb in the summer. White flowers nodded in the wind, sighing for spring. But what was that amongst them? A large white shape … he approached, and then gasped in joy. A pure white kitten lay in the flowers, wide eyed and shivering.

Their eyes met, and Neville read the small animal’s angst, a knife piercing his heart as he scooped her in to his arms.

a white kitten among trees
Image by Susann Mielke from Pixabay

Snowdrop became his cat. His mother advertised her locally and on social media, but much to Neville’s delight no owner came forward. Like a snowdrop petal on the wind, she had flown in to his life, a flower tonic for his heart.

Neville recalled his dream. He bought a canvas and began to paint. Joy seeded in his heart like a spring flower. Slowly, Snowdrop the kitten among the snowdrops took shape beneath his hands. A smile unfurled on his face like a snowdrop in the sun.

Eventually, Snowdrop’s portrait was complete. His mother enlisted it in a local art exhibition. Neville shivered in anticipation, fear and delight battling in his heart, his hands shaking like snowdrops in a spring breeze.

To Neville’s surprise satisfaction, his painting sold on the first day of the exhibition. Eighty year old Geoffrey placed his new piece of art above his fireplace. He gazed at the slim feline in the picture, and thought of his late wife. She had adored cats. He had not replaced the final feline to pass away. Without his wife, there was no joy in caring for pets.

However, the painting helped him feel close to her again. He smiled, then fell in to a dreamless sleep in front of his fire. He woke at midnight, confused. Where was he? Clumsily, he climbed the stairs to his bed.

In the morning, Geoffrey rose and as was his custom flung open the curtains, gazing at his forlorn uncared for garden. Snowdrops danced in the morning breeze. However there was something among them. Was it … a kitten?

Geoffrey ventured outside in his dressing gown. A small feline meowed, looking at him with deep emerald eyes.

Loved lanced his heart, a feeling he had not encountered for years. He did not even try to find an owner, the kitten was his. Geoffrey’s days bounced with meaning again, like a playful kitten. His eyes danced with delight as the small cat ran up and down his stairs, like a ghost of a happier past, or an angel of a better future. Life became enjoyable once more.

On the other side of town, Neville played with Snowdrop, and smiled. It was time to paint again. So he lifted his brush, as magic melted in the air. The future would be full of feline fun, days falling like dominoes towards a kitten fuelled destiny. For a cat’s love can last forever, staring out of a picture for all time.

Across town, seven year old Debbie had finished reading her book, “Sox the White Kitten.” She sighed, how she would love a little white kitten of her own. Somewhere, her dream was heard as paint licked a canvas like a hungry cat.

Geoffrey stared at the painting on his wall. The secret of art in his eyes, he stroked his kitten and sighed. He would call her Anne, after his wife. His door rattled in the wind, like a ghost trying to gain entrance. Then all was still, as silent as a sleeping kitten.

snowdrops against a white background
Image by Peggychoucair from Pixabay

Snow White Sam: A Feline Festive Adventure

A white cat with one eye amber and one eye blue slowly edged through the moonlit garden. The promise of Christmas was in the air, like a perfume from paradise, the scent of good times ahead.

the face of a white cat sleeping
Image by Pasi Mämmelä from Pixabay

A small snow cat gazed at him with pebble eyes, its golden collar glittering in the soft light. Sam sniffed it, and wished it were real. Perhaps moonlit magic would ignite real life in its still snow heart.

Ellie turned over in bed, dreaming of the snowcat she had built that day. In her dream, it had come to life. She called him Santa Paws. They journeyed to a magic land of cats called Felinia. Ellie awoke the next day refreshed, her dream drifting away like snow in the sun.

She looked out her bedroom window, as horror eroded her happy heart. Kenneth, the boy next door, was jumping through the flattened remains of her snow cat. Ellie opened the window and screamed. Kenneth just laughed and ran away.

Tears stung Ellie’s eyes like winter wasps. Then she heard it. A cat meowing. Below her window, a white feline looked in to her eyes and melted her heart of snow.

A thought itched her mind like a cat whisker: had the snowcat come to life? Then she dismissed the notion; at eight years of age she was too old to entertain such childish nonsense!

Of course, the white cat was none other than Snow White Sam. He stayed with Ellie for five nights, and she slowly forgot about the destroyed snow cat. He knew she dreamt of Felinia, and he vowed to return one day to take her there.

However, he had other places to be, the life of a nomad came with a responsibility to appear exactly where and when needed. It was a special kind of magic that only really cats understood.

Ellie was again distraught. Sam had slipped away as secretly as he had arrived, swallowed by the snow all around, a winter dream melted in the sun.

Kenneth rebuilt the snow cat. “Hey Ellie, look! It’s even better than yours!”

The new snowcat sported a red scarf and two blue lace agate crystals as eyes. Ellie was delighted. “Let’s call him Snow White Sam!” Little did she know that the real white cat sported the same name.

Christmas Day arrived, and Ellie jumped for joy as she rose from bed. Snow White Sam the snowcat was still there, large and real in the garden.

Christmas had dawned white and crisp, a day of feline festive magic. On the local TV news, a grinning reporter stood in front of the town centre nativity scene. “And in with baby Jesus, sleeps a pure white cat!”

Ellie ran to the TV. “Mum, it’s my cat! It’s him!”

“It wasn’t your cat, Ellie. I am sure he has a home he returned to.”

However Ellie was insistent, and reluctantly her parents drove her to the town centre.

The nativity scene was there, however the white cat had gone.

Ellie fingered the cradle gently. There was a white whisker on top of the baby Jesus doll head. Ellie held it wistfully. Back home, she placed it on the the snowcat head. His blue eyes twinkled in the sun.

The next day, the snow had melted. However, on the ground there lay two blue stones and a whisker. Ellie held them to her heart. One day he would return for real, her Snow White Sam.

Far away, a child cried in its sleep. A white cat jumped on to her windowsill, scratching to get in. For every child’s nightmare calls a saviour, often in feline form.

Ellie turned over in her sleep. She was in Felinia again, and beside her walked Snow White Sam, a snowcat come to life. As she dreamt, a whisker fell from her hand to the floor. Feline magic filled the night.

Outside it began to snow again, gentle flecks as soft as cat hair. All over town, cats dreamt of the magical land Felinia. The Christmas spell was complete. May white cat blessings transform your Christmas into a winter dream come true.

face of a white cat with emerald green eyes
Image by Anja from Pixabay

Halloween Black Cat

By Rachel H Grant

Her name was Black Beauty, christened after her owner’s favourite childhood book. A black cat with a few rebel white hairs on her chest, she could purr as if auditioning for a talent show, a melodic whisper of other worlds. In her eyes, little moons shone, black cat magic in her veins.

It was Halloween. Black Beauty gave birth to five black kittens while children roamed the streets dressed as ghosts. However the real magic was here, in Black Beauty’s safe space cupboard. Her poor owner had no idea she was pregnant, believing her to be eating too much and under the false impression that the stray she had adopted was neutered.

The surprise could wait for morning. For now, Black Beauty enjoyed her private time with her little balls of molten magic.

Far away, in the Scottish Highlands, a wildcat also gave birth. Five perfect kittens, little black wildcats with black coats and even darker black stripes. History had been ignited, a new flame that could not be extinguished. The black wildcats would learn magical abilities, the power to protect, the spirit of a superhero.

Black Beauty’s kittens were all rehomed, and became guardians to the child of their new family, a young person to protect and guide.

The black highland kittens would likewise become protectors. They would find a farm with children, visiting each night, silently prowling and guarding the young souls sleeping behind the quiet windows.

Halloween was in their hearts, a time of year when they would release their true superpowers. The black cats would patrol school backgrounds, spreading their feline spell. All school bullying would stop for the day, even for the entire month after their visit. The school children loved the cats, who in turn became a Halloween urban legend, Halloween black cats who would appear once a year like magic.

black cat on rooftop with bright moon above
ELG21 on Pixabay

Meanwhile, the black Highland wildcats would spread their own Highland magic every Halloween, moving along roads and onto farms, allowing themselves to be seen and admired from afar. A highland myth of magical black Highland cats was born.

Each Halloween eve, a magic portal would open to a midnight forest glade, glistening in soft moonlight, pine needles creating a carpet of fresh fragrance, a safe space in a distant dimension. The black cats would meet there, in a land beyond time, and share their stories. The light of a full moon would stroke their fur, as their eyes shone with fierce fire. This was their time, and their place. Halloween, their birthday, a night as magical as they were. Halloween, a night to run free, a festival of feline lore.  

black cat on tree branch in front of an orange moon
Bessi on Pixabay

Stone Circle Prayer

By Rachel H Grant

Sarah’s three cats relaxed by the fire in a way that only cats can, a tapestry of black and white woven together in to a feline spell. Alice, Amy and Arnold brought untold joy; Sarah was so pleased that she had attended the Cats Protection open day the year before, looking for a kitten but taking home three adult siblings instead. A blessing in fur and whiskers; a vision of contentment and catnip fun.

However fun fled that night as Arnold disappeared. He did not come for breakfast the next day; he did not come for his evening meal. Still he did not appear the following day, or the next. Weeks passed, mutating to months, hatching as years. He was gone.

Sarah dreamt of him most nights. He was standing, still and regal, in a stone circle. Then he turned and was gone, merging in to the dreamlike mist all around.

black and white cat with green eyes
Image by Andii Samperio from Pixabay

With quiet desperation she searched online for stone circles in the area. There were three in a ten mile radius. She visited the first two to no avail; however at the third circle she found his red collar. Sarah ran through the surrounding woods, calling his name. But there was no sign of him.


Arnold sniffed his way round the stone circle, the air alive with feline wisdom. Shivering in a wind that felt as cold as centuries old snow, he could hear ancestors whisper in his ears. It could have been any day, but it was this one. A day that destiny would devour, like a vulture on its last meal.

stone circle at the foot of a mountain
Image by Paul Edney from Pixabay

The temperature suddenly changed, from cold to warmth in a second. Arnold sniffed the air, surprised. The day felt … different. A black cat approached from the other side of the circle. Its eyes glittered in reflected sunlight, like mirrors to another world.

Cautiously, they sniffed noses. “I am Adele, and I have come to get help from this magic stone circle. A cat who lives on my street told me about it. The circle sends you to another time. Watch, I will leave now and I will disappear, to find a better home.”

Adele walked slowly between two of the stones, and was gone.

Suddenly, Arnold was back at the first stone he had sniffed. Time shifted beneath his feet as the world plunged into darkness, stars above like the light of better futures, beacons of hope for the lost soul.

He began to sniff his way round the circle again. Another cat approached, eyes like full moons in the dim light. “Hello, I am Jasper. I have come to this magic circle to be free.” Jasper then walked out of the stone circle and was gone.

The grass moved beneath his feet, and he was back at the first stone again, the world spinning as grey daylight overtook the night. A light rain fell.

A grey cat who matched the sky above approached slowly. “Hello stone circle cat, I am here to request its magic. A new time and a new owner!”

“What is this magic?” asked Arnold.

“All the local cats know about it, not happy with your current home, you come here. You will find a better one on the other side of the circle.”

“But I am happy in my home,” pondered Arnold. “What will happen to me?”

Arnold skipped round the circle, then returned to the first stone, to begin his exploration anew. He did not know that he was in a time loop, but he sensed that something was not right. It was like he was trapped in the largest cat basket ever, he could see out of the circle but he could not walk free.


Sarah stopped her search for Arnold. He was gone. She learned to live without him, but would never forget, another feline footprint in that part of her heart that almost but did not break. How could it break when there were still two beautiful cats to look after?

So Sarah, Alice and Amy continued their lives together, curling up at night to dreams they did not remember, meeting Arnold somewhere cold, a frozen feeling in their hearts that evaporated with the dawn.

Years passed; Sarah’s hair turned grey as the cats’ whiskers grew white and their eyes saw less and less. The arthritic felines still slept each night on Sarah’s bed, the slumber of the old, a sleep from which one day they might not awaken. Then that day came, both cats sleeping their forever, bodies still and cold. Sarah awoke to the pain that all pet owners must one day face. She picked up a stray whisker, as the tears fell.


Arnold had been in the stone circle for days now, and finally pangs of hunger broke through the mysterious unease in his heart. He must eat.

A white cat approached him across the circle. “I am your guardian cat angel,” she purred softly. “I have come to send you home. Exit the circle by that stone there, then go home.”

“Home? My own home? Not a new home like all these other cats I have met?”

“Your home,” said the cat with her deep green eyes on his. “Go now.”

Arnold ran and ran. He could not wait to leave the stone circle behind. Then he was there, at his house and sprinting through the cat flap.


Sarah sipped her cold tea, then heard the sound of the cat flap. She froze. It was a week now since Alice and Amy had slipped away. Who then was coming through the cat flap?

Slowly she walked to the kitchen, then stopped in disbelief, turning to dizzy delight. It was Arnold! Looking not a day older.

Sarah hugged her cat as though she had not seen him for years, as indeed she had not. “Arnold, my Arnold.” Grief melted as happiness hugged her heart.

Tears streamed down Sarah’s face, joy and grief intertwined like the ribbon of life. Arnold sniffed her hair, his knowing eyes sparkling. Magic misted the air around them, as miracles unwound in their hearts. It was a day of destiny; it was another chance at love; it was a cat spell in freefall.

A few miles away, a stone circle sparkled under the sun, secrets hidden deep in its stone, mysteries silent as the sky above. Slowly, a stray cat entered the circle, hope in his heart. A better destiny would dawn.

Snow White Sam: Adventure One

A white cat with an amber and a blue eye
Firmanamff on Pixabay

Five year old Adele lay on her bed in tears. Her best friend, her tender soulmate Theodore the Teddy had disappeared. Without him, she was bereft. Her heart hiccupped with grief.

Then she heard it, a low meowing. At her window.

Slowly she opened the curtains, and smiled in sudden delight at the sight of a white cat on her windowsill, one eye amber and one eye blue. He was a dream cat come true.

As Adele opened the window, the cat picked up something in its mouth. Why it was her teddy!

Adele clapped her hands, happiness painting her features with sunshine.

The cat dropped the teddy in to her waiting hands, rubbed around her body, then jumped back through the window and was gone. She never saw him again, her angel feline.

Snow White Sam ran though the garden, right in to the arms of his next mission.

Children were at the heart of most of his adventures, new souls who could – who would – achieve so much, but who sometimes needed a gentle paw to push them onwards.

Janine and Tracy were in the village park, tears abundant as they shared their woes. Sam ran up to them and rubbed around their legs. It was time to take them somewhere special.

He began to walk, looking behind and meowing. They took the bait, and followed, their blonde ponytails swaying in the wind, whispering in their ears of a better tomorrow.

Two streets away, a green garden door led to a secret space, a piece of public land hidden and forgotten. Sam scratched at the door, which the girls obligingly opened.

A petite wild garden confronted them, with an old well, like a vision of a magical world on the edge of reality.

It was a wishing well. Sam led them to it, and jumped on to its rim.

An old wooden well in a garden
No-longer-here on Pixabay

The girls hastily pulled on the old rope, as the bucket ascended to their eager eyes.

The bucket was full to the top with parched yellow envelopes, ancient letters from a distant past. Sam pawed them playfully. The girls chose a letter each.

Tracy’s letter implored her in old-fashioned ink: “Speak telepathically to the cat next to you.” She stared at the paper in disbelief. How was this possible? Then she tried it. “Hello,” she whispered in her mind. “I am Sam,” was the reply. “I help children.”

Janine’s letter however was more exciting. It depicted a treasure map, featuring their village and its wild paths that snaked deep in to the countryside. There, in a copse of trees, was an X. At the foot of the map, almost illegible writing proclaimed “X is a magical dragon egg. Whoever finds it, will gain a magnificent companion and guide for life.”

“What are you waiting for!” screeched Tracy over her shoulder. “Let’s follow the treasure trail!”

Sam was left alone, as always. He gazed in to the magic wishing well, and wished for a family of his own. Perhaps one day he would find it, the day his adventures were over, the day he could just enjoy being a fun feline for a while.

He pushed open the green door. It disappeared behind him, leaving an unmarked wall. Hidden from the world, the garden’s magic would continue nonetheless.

Sam continued on to his next child. There were still hours before dusk. Many minutes to play with, seconds to save a child’s fate. For the children are the future, and their destiny danced safely in Sam’s soul. It was time to play like a six year old, as the kitten in his heart awoke. It was time to be a child.

Avril looked out her window, boredom pulsing like a headache within. Then she saw him. A white cat with different coloured eyes. He jumped on to her windowsill, and with joy replacing the headache she quickly let him in. Having a cat of her own, she even had some food she could give him. The cat ate with the hunger of days. She laughed, a new feline friend is always fun.

A prayer of playfulness filled the room, as Sam purred with a cat’s contentment.

There were hours still before dusk, and magic to sing in meows. The day was as young as a perfect white cat’s heart.

A white cat pictured side on
Yeracastelan on Pixabay

The Electrical Life of Louis Wain

The Electrical Life of Louis Wain (director: Will Sharpe) is a first class and fascinating film which portrays the life of genius artist Louis Wain (1860 –1939). Uplifting and moving, the film charts Wain’s rise as a renowned illustrator of cats: depicting felines with oversized eyes and latterly in larger than life psychedelic detail. An incredible talent, Wain’s marriage, widowhood and final descent in to madness are relayed with sensitivity and stark detail.

As a cat lover, Wain served as president of the UK’s National Cat Club, and contributed to the global rise in popularity of feline pets. To him, felines everywhere owe a debt of gratitude.

Benedict Cumberbatch and Claire Foy excel in the star roles of Wain and wife Emily. Wit tangoes with wisdom, emotion waltzes with enlightened monologues. The film is at once life-affirming and sad, a journey through love, notable achievement, fame and finally the fog of mental illness, a mist that shrouds a life with mystery and regret.

This film is a must see for art and cat enthusiasts alike.

two images of a tabby cat with large eyes, painted by Louis Wain
public domain work of art sourced from

A Tabby New Year

By Rachel H Grant

Irina walked slowly through the old house, brushing her wanton dark curls from her face, brown eyes glowing with fervent fire.  The creak of ancient floorboards sung a story beneath her feet, the beat of time sending shivers up her legs. Old pipework groaned, a poem of the passage of life. The new house was medicine to her soul, a powerful place in which to finish her novel.

Her beloved tabby cat Tabitha had peacefully passed away only weeks ago. The novel would be a celebration of her life; the story of a cat lover and sanctuary manager who learned to talk to cats, using the ancient language of telepathy.

Walking down the stairs in time to its creaks, Irina suddenly stopped. She could hear a cat purring. Irina hunted through the house. However there was no cat. An imagination on fire, that was all.

That night, Irina awoke abruptly, jumping as if she had heard a shot. She had felt a cat kneading the blankets next to her. She turned on the light. Nothing there.

Over the next few days, a pattern formed: distant purrs and night-time kneaders. Never a cat in sight. Was the house haunted by a feline soul?

It was New Year’s Eve. Irina sat alone but not lonely, her fictional characters chattering in her head, a strange solace. Absent-mindedly she moved her hand to stroke Tabitha, and then stared at the empty spot on her lap as tears finally formed in her eyes.

Then she heard it, punctuating the quiet atmosphere of the house like a drum.

A miaowing coming from her bedroom. She ran upstairs. However, despite searching the entire room, including removing all boxes from the wardrobe, there was no cat to be found.

That night, Irina again felt a cat kneading her blankets. This time, she did not even bother turning on the light.

On New Year’s morning, a crimson sunrise greeted her. As she set the coffee machine to go, Irina turned round in soul-slapping surprise. Someone – something – was scratching her back door.

Nervously, she opened the door. A large tabby cat confronted her, marching in as though he lived there. Irina smiled. Was this her ghost? But how could he have hidden from her?

Irina named him Zac. Despite attempts at advertisement, no owner materialised. Her local vet scanned for a microchip, but there was none. He was hers, and how her heart hiccupped with joy at the prospect of keeping him!

The midnight miaows, nightly kneading and distant purrs all disappeared. In their place, a real live cat had claimed her heart and secured his food dish.

Irina finished her novel. She typed the last line, then bounded down the stairs, Zac in tow. Time to relax. Zac curled on her knee, as a crimson sunrise shimmered in her chest, rays of celebration in her heart.

In Irina’s office, the computer keyboard lay lifeless, until one black whisper fell on the letter T. A sound of purring whispered in the room, and then all was silent. The room was empty. An old soul lingered for one minute longer, eyes glowing with supernatural gold. Then it was gone.

Downstairs, Irina’s smile was stuck on her face like a stamp. She thought of the last lines of her book, and wondered whether she should reword them. “A love of a cat endures long after their death, like a a sun that can never burn out. Feel that love, and you will never be alone.”

A stray draft tousled her hair, then was gone. Zac slowly licked her hand. Peace claimed the house, like a cloud of serenity, raining down silence. Irina closed her eyes, contentment caressing her heart. It was a new year, time for the ghosts of yesterday to go home. New days would come, and with them new dreams. Zac began to purr, a song for tomorrow.

A tabby cat with green eyes
MabelAmber on Pixabay

Magic Kitten

Noah lay in bed, tears rolling down his cheeks, a heavy stone turning in his heart. This was his first Christmas without Cheetah, his much adored Bengal cat. He had written to Santa asking for a kitten, however his mother had informed him that Santa did not give out living animals as gifts, and in fact no one should, as Christmas gifts may end up in an animal shelter after only weeks or months. “A cat is for life, not just for Christmas,” she intoned solemnly. “Besides, we will get you a kitten in the spring.”

However for once in her life, his mother would be proved wrong.

Noah awoke to feel something moving next to him. He stifled a scream, his six year old body quivering, his ginger curls standing in electric shock.

Tentatively, he opened his eyes.

A white kitten lay curled up before him, deep yellow eyes begging him to play.

Noah giggled. Had Santa really brought him a kitten?

white kitten playing with a Santa hat
StockSnap on Pixabay

A piece of paper lay on his bedside table, with lyrical old-fashioned writing like a missive from the past. “Love him like a glittering jewel, his feline power is beyond priceless.”

And so began a fifteen year relationship of fun and frolics. He named the kitten Miracle, as that is what he was and always would be.

Noah’s Mum was speechless. Had her husband bought the kitten without telling her? However, she quickly resigned to the presence of the new feline.

Noah grew in confidence and hurtled feet first in to a new happiness. Miracle lit up his heart like an inner candle of joy. He began a new hobby, football, and in-between practice spent happy hours with his cat.

Little did he know, that Miracle really did suit his name. He was a magic cat, chosen by Santa just for Noah. Every time Miracle looked in to Noah’s eyes, he imparted deep and ancient wisdom. Noah grew in more than just size, as maturity and magic magnified his mind.

The football hobby eventually turned professional; Noah had realised his dream. However, the day after his first record-breaking goal, the sixteen year old Miracle died. He had delivered his mission; Miracle had helped Noah grow in to the man he was and the man he would become. Miracle had furnished a new future, just as Santa had hoped and had foreseen.

Noah became famous, a pin up poster boy for young teenage girls. At the pinnacle of the young man’s stardom, dark times threatened to devour the planet. War whispered on the horizon, world peace as frail as a one hundred year old piece of paper.

It was during this period that Noah delivered the speech of his life during a routine TV interview.

“I have a heart to hope, and a soul to cry. Let’s choose the tears of friendship, and scrub out sobs of war and terror. Let’s choose peace over war, let’s create a paradise not a graveyard. Let every man and child, everywhere, live to see the sunset rise again in the pinks and reds of a brave new dawn. Let’s leave our children a better, a safer, a more peaceful world. Let’s begin now. Alight the flames of love in your heart, look at your brothers and sisters, feel their pain, share their hopes and fears.  Remember we are one, one human race, one planet. The future is ours to set free. Set it free to be reborn like a phoenix from the flames, set it free to deliver happiness and health to all, set it free to pulse to the quiet drum of peace. Banish the dismal drums of war forever. The future is ours, it is ours to mould like clay, let’s become master potters and mould the world we really want to see. Let peace perfume our world, a fragrance for the future of all time. Let love light our souls. Let compassion calm our rage, and empathy erode our divisions. It is time to stand united. It is time to say, enough, no more. It is time to create a paradise right here on Earth.”

sunset over the sea
Public Domain Pictures on Pixabay

Noah’s speech went viral. His message struck a chord at the heart of each nation, and the people knew a fresh hope.

Father Christmas watched with a silent smile on his lips. He had chosen Noah well. Miracle had performed his purrful magic to perfection.

However there was no rest for Santa. It was time to choose a magic Christmas kitten for yet another child. Santa’s smile grew wider.

Charlie turned over in bed, excited for Christmas Day, wishing it were here already. As he closed his eyes, a whisker fell on his pillow. A ginger kitten sniffed his hair, and curled up in the arch of his legs. Charlie would awake to a new friend … and the world would one day know a new leader. A man with the love of a cat colouring his soul. A leader with the innate instinct of a cat, and with feline secrets in his heart.

Billy and Teddy’s Most Excellent Tiger Tales

by Rachel H Grant

Previous Billy and Teddy Adventures

Teddy woke up, his eyes twitching with dream-driven excitement. He had met King Teo, Ruler of Tigers. A huge tiger with twinkling wise eyes. “I am giving you a mission,” intoned King Teo. “Save the Highland Wildcat.”

Teddy meowed softly. Billy raised his head, whiskers twitching. “We have a new mission,” said Teddy.

The two cats stared in to each other’s eyes, their previous adventures roaring in their hearts.

“We need to help the Highland Tiger. I guess we should ask Ambrose what to do.”

Ambrose was the regal Cat Elder who had assigned all their previous adventures, a large ginger cat with a vicious sense of humour. They had never attempted to summon him before. Using feline psychic powers, they blasted him a message using a mystic wavelength. Cheaper than the phones their parents played with! “Ambrose, we ask for a mission to save the Highland Wildcat!”

Billy and Teddy looked at each other, a cat grin lighting their eyes as they heard the familiar whirring of Ambrose’s time capsule.

Then it was time to explain about King Teo. Ambrose regarded them sternly. “You boys have been up to unsanctioned mischief! The time capsule is not for frolics and fun. But yes I will help you.”

Ambrose’s eyes lit up with inner fire as he mentally planned their adventure.

After several minutes, he spoke (in cat telepathy of course), with a determined demeanour.

“Do you recall the healing energy I attuned you both to so many cat moons ago now?”

“How could we forget,” said Teddy drily.

“I have a new magic energy for you. You will be Feline Healers Supreme! And there are so many more adventures that could use this energy … “

Ambrose jumped in to his time capsule. He returned as violet smoke filled the room, emitting from the capsule like a swarm of ferocious fireflies.

Billy and Teddy felt their eyelids droop, as the smoke of a thousand senses massaged their minds.

“Wake up you fools! The smoke is attuning you to rejuvenation energy. You can impart it to anyone you rub around. It is a longevity pill. For a cat, you will gift them an extra two or three hundred years to live!”

“What about our humans?”

“This energy is feline, it only works on cats. But cats are magic. Heal the right cat with this, and you heal the world.”

“Okay, so how does this help Highland Wildcats?”

“There are beautiful feline souls I visit often, resident at Highland Wildlife Park. Alas, they are not wild and free. But these wildcats have the perfect chance to produce kittens. The longer they live, the more kittens there will be, kittens who will be released in to the wild and will repopulate the Scottish hills and glens with our feline poetry in motion, stanza in stripes cat – the Highland Tiger.”

So the three cats climbed on to the sofa and planned, purred and planned. Then it was time for Billy and Teddy to weave their molten magic.

Wildcat William slept in his pen, deep within the Highland Wildlife Park. He dreamt of a beautiful princess, a wildcat named Leiana with mystic powers. He purred as he slept, a perfect dream of a better tomorrow. Then the sound of a bizarre today awoke him. A strange silver machine had landed in his pen. He growled grimly.

To William’s surprise, a small black and an even smaller grey cat emerged. Their eyes beamed hellos … and something else. “We have come to save the Wildcat.” William appraised the two felines, wondering whether they were fools or heroes. “We only need to rub around you, and your life will become so much longer … “

William regarded them with disdain. However, something in his heart fluttered at the thought of living longer, surely something they would all like to do.

“How much longer?”

“Two or three hundred years, during which time your offspring will take over all the highlands and ensure that wildcats continue for centuries.”

“If this is the case, I have one wish. Return in two hundred years, and set me free! I wish my last days to be there, in the wild, where we all at heart belong. The song of Scottish streams and the murmured poems of trees, these are in our blood. The land is just an extension of us, we are the soul of Scotland. Yes, come back and set me free.”

“And there will be a surprise when we come back,” declared Billy with a twinkle in his enigmatic eye.

So William the Wildcat lived in the Highland Wildlife Park for two hundred years, never aging one year, his sleek healthy body the wonder of scientists. Tourists from all over the world came to Scotland just to see William. He was an international supercat-star.

A religious group famously worshipped William, recognising him as a son of God, and conducting an annual religious gathering in Aviemore. Other groups made William their honorary chair. A cuddly William replica became the mascot of many sport clubs. William children’s novels and William animated films were adored by children the world over. William was truly an inspiration to any and all.

Sometimes William thought of Billy and Teddy, but not very often. The years soldiered on, days turned in to months then years, time flowing like a river that would never stop. However life did not improve, it just went on and on. Was this the magical life Billy and Teddy had promised?

One day at sunset, a strange whirring sound broke his slumber. It was them. They had not forgotten their promise.

“I am young but weary, healthy yet so tired,” pronounced William. “I am ready for my final days, and it is time to be free!”

“We have a special surprise.”

Billy and Teddy transported William to the place and time they had deposited Princess Leiana, Highland Wildcat princess with magical powers, so many adventures ago. “She will be near,” they advised William in reverent telepathic tones.

“The legendary Princess Leiana is real? We tell all our kittens her story. But we never believed it.”

With that, William walked proudly in to the woods, a solitary figure in the light of the setting sun. Freedom fired his heart. The scent of the wild filled his lungs. The spirit of Scotland shone in his eyes. This land, his home, his legacy. From the undergrowth, the eyes of his many offspring watched shyly. A king was in their midst. And as the last Wildcat King, he would be remembered forever. For memories do not die, they live in stories, in happy endings that enchant children and in the poems of tomorrow. Memories are feline meows deep in the heart, a Scottish song of a thousand better futures, a ballad of beauty and unwritten wisdom.

William’s disappearance from the wildlife park prompted many conspiracy and religious theories. His statue at Edinburgh Castle gazed disdainfully at his fans, fools and heroes both. And in his granite eyes, secrets simmered and died.   

Highland wildcat sitting on a log

(c) Can Stock Photo / davemhuntphotography

Feline Tales

By Rachel H Grant

Dedicated to my mother, who inspired my love of both felines and fiction.

Olivia gently stroked the tiny white cat, its little black patches like rainclouds in a summer sky. She would call her Sammy. A mystery cat, found in the village and never claimed. Olivia could not resist, her heart melting when she met the little stray in a neighbour’s house. Mrs Russell was more than happy to hand the cat over. “I have quite enough cats already!”

Soon after Sammy arrived, Olivia bought a notebook and fancy pen. She did not know why, an impulse on the wind. Then the dreams came. Every night, deep in sleep with Sammy next to her, the dreams rained a river. They would not stop. It was a story with no beginning or end, but a tale she must tell.

Every morning before getting ready for work, Olivia would spend half an hour just writing. The words flowed, a deluge of drama. It was a soap opera kind of story, beauty and betrayal, love and lies, fear and fights. She could not stop. Then one day, the novel was finished.

The next day, Sammy went out as usual, and never returned.


James found the tiny white cat on his doorstep, shivering in the dawn cold. Despite notices in local shops, no one in the town claimed her. So she became his new best friend.

He had never owned a cat before, and was surprised how easy – and how rewarding – it actually was. There was a hole in his life since his wife left him for his best friend. At least little Tabitha would never betray him like that.

Then the dreams began.

Each night, a story playing in his head. Each dream started where the other one finished. Eventually, he could stand it no more. So he began to type on his laptop each morning, recording the dreams. The story grew and grew.

One day, the 80,000 page manuscript was finished. James sighed with relief. Perhaps the dreams would stop.

And they did. The same night Tabitha disappeared. He never saw her again.


Eileen awoke to find a white cat on her doorstep. Perhaps it’s meant to be, she mused, still mourning the death of her beloved feline Lottie.

The new cat – Natasha – was small and quiet, with a soothing purr. Eileen slept each night to the music of purrs, a song that slid in to her soul and softly told a story.

Eileen began to write. There was a story inside that just must be told.

One day the novel was finished. On that day, Natasha went out the catflap never to return.


Two years later, three novels were released by different publishers. They caused a sensation in the literary world. They acted, together, as prequel, main story and sequel, featuring the same characters within the one unfolding story, although all written in very different styles.

The novelists denied any collaboration. Who would believe them? It was a modern mystery.


Five year old Sabrina climbed in to bed, their new white rescue cat beside her. She had called her Snowdrop. As Snowdrop purred, Sabrina slept. In the morning, she found a notebook, and wrote. She wrote and wrote, all day, and secretly at night. It was a story about a stray cat with many owners, and many lives. When she had finished, she hid the notebook in her box of treasures.

Snowdrop lived with Sabrina for ten years. Then one night, when Sabrina was fifteen, she disappeared, never to be seen again. Sabrina cried, then forgot.

Years later, the eighty year old Sabrina found her old childhood box at the back of a cupboard. Tears of joy ran down her face as she read her childlike story. She had never forgotten Snowdrop. And now she had a piece of that magic time to cherish, forever.

Eventually, she published the children’s story, to great acclaim. “To Snowdrop, international cat of mystery” declared the book’s introduction.

Sabrina chuckled. For the memory of a great cat lives forever, hidden in the words of our stories, purring from their pages as though really there. A cat’s memory is like treasure in our hearts. It is a jewel that can never be lost, or stolen. It is literary love forever.

Image by suju-foto from Pixabay