By Rachel H Grant

Wendy loved the woodland walks surrounding her home village. A Christmas chill hung in the air and fairy frost glistened on the leaves today. Her feet crunched on the winter white path. There it was. The mistletoe tree. She did not know whose idea it had been to hang mistletoe there. Perhaps a village kid, at least she imagined it was young people who came here hoping for some festive flirtation.

So she stopped beneath the tree, a smile licking her lips like a cat with cream. It was better after all to smile than to cry. Husband Neville had escaped the fabric of their life, tearing it to shreds as he ran. The hole in her heart still felt wide open, a year later. A wound that was infected with rage. What had she done wrong? She would never know.

The leaves whispered beneath her feet. Wendy looked down, to see two emerald green eyes looking up at her.

It was a black and white kitten with white mitten paws.

A remedy for a broken heart, a festive spell of feline fun.

The kitten should not be alone in the woods on this cold day, he or she looked merely a few weeks old. So with no hesitation, Wendy picked the kitten up and returned home. Her long auburn hair fell over his black and white fur, and the happy little cat clawed at it playfully.

She would call him Mistletoe Mittens.

Back at home, she poured a dish of milk. The kitten drank with a soldier’s thirst; what battles of mere survival had he endured?

Wendy shut him in the kitchen as she hurried to the village shop to buy kitten food. While there, she relayed her story to the bored looking cashier, who woke up momentarily to place a found cat advert on the noticeboard. Someone must be missing the little kitten.

It was the Christmas holidays, so Wendy’s vacation became a playcation, catch and chase, hide and seek and find the Christmas tree bauble. Mittens was such fun, she hoped so much no one would claim him.

Kitten footprints zigzagged her heart. Whiskers whispered in her soul. Life was lighter, her heart now full of kitten kinship.

No one responded to the village shop advert. Reluctantly, Wendy posted on a local pet owners’ Facebook group. Derek from the next village replied.  His Facebook photo depicted a grinning ginger haired pixie face. Wendy liked him immediately.

Last Christmas, Derek had lost a black and white kitten. However, obviously it could not be the same cat. Wendy chatted to Derek on Messenger, an alien taking over her body as she typed; this was so unlike her, to open up to a stranger.

Then they met, Mittens rubbing his feline seal of approval on Derek’s legs. They talked and talked. Love blossomed in Wendy’s heart, a stray seed blown there by winds of crazy cat coincidence.

Derek marvelled at how similar Mittens looked to his own kitten, a surprise Christmas present from his then girlfriend the year before.

Weeks marched in to months. Derek, Wendy and Mittens became one extended feline family. Wendy had never been happier, until the day Derek proposed. Then joy like no other licked her heart, a hungry kitten inside.

However sadness cast a shadow on her house. Mistletoe Mittens disappeared that same day.

Wendy advertised her missing cat everywhere, the local shop, Facebook, local cat charities. No response.

Months toppled like dominoes. Mittens never returned.

Derek and Wendy were married under the mistletoe tree, the wedding ring encasing her finger like a fairy hug. The pawprints on her heart had faded, but would never disappear completely.

Years passed, their happy smiles painting wrinkles on their faces. The pawprints on Wendy’s heart were hidden somewhere under the sands of time, vulnerable to the winds of winter.

And winter pounced on Wendy’s heart the day Derek died. They had enjoyed decades together. She wept tears of love and sorrow, intertwined like the colours on a black and white cat.

Wendy walked in the snow-licked woods nursing her mute memories, tears quiet on her cheeks.

Then she saw it. The mistletoe tree.

With a smile chasing away the tears, Wendy touched the soft bark and sighed. She closed her eyes.

When she reopened them, her heart fluttered as its buried pawprints were revealed.

A black and white kitten regarded her timidly.

The sun shone in her smile, as Wendy picked up the kitten and said, “Mischief.” Love laced her blood with warmth, and her heart beat to a forgotten music of meows.

Mischief became her shadow, as real pawprints tiptoed around her house. A feline friend to cherish, a confidante to all her best memories.

That Christmas Eve, a young girl and boy kissed under the mistletoe in the woods. Magic was in the air. Unseen, a large cat watched the young couple, then quietly slipped away, pawprints in the snow.

Wendy woke on Christmas Day to the sound of purring. Mischief crawled in to her arms. A smile rose in her heart like a sun dawning on a better tomorrow.

The mistletoe in the woods danced in the wind. Pawprints appeared in the snow beneath. The trees stood witness to Christmas magic, secrets unspoken in their quiet hearts. The wind hushed. A shadow crept under the trees, then was gone.