Tag Archives: writing

A Festive Feline Tale

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By Rachel H Grant

Snow slowly fell from a dark winter sky like a huge white flower star shedding its petals. Magic hissed in the air. It was a night of potential, a hundred different stories flowering like new stars in the still sky. It was the night before Christmas …

A black cat walked through the dusting of snow, her eyes shining like lanterns. A catflap loomed ahead. The little cat began to purr, the sound of a million “have a nice day”s turned in to a song, the sound of feline miracles.

A black cat with green eyes with her paw reaching out to a green bauble
Image by iPicture from Pixabay

Yvonne came home from work to find a black cat in front of her fireplace. “Oh well, just as you are here …” Yvonne lit a fire and nursed a hot chocolate as the cat purred. “Have you a home?” wondered Yvonne. “You can stay here tonight, I wouldn’t put you out on this cold evening.”

Christmas Day dawned like a cat waking from a deep sleep, light gradually seeping in to the day as if too tired to wake up.

Yvonne stretched in bed. Christmas Day! And her first ever all on her own.

Downstairs, a Christmas miracle purred like the beginning of a happy ever after story. The black cat was gone as silently as she had appeared. In her place, there lay a small white kitten. Yvonne’s heart beat with an instant connection. The kitten became her cherished companion, a Christmas wish fallen from the stars above.

Next Christmas came round like a stone of destiny toppled by a line of dominoes. Gemma was stunned to find a black cat in her sitting-room on Christmas Eve, curled up before the wood stove as though she had always belonged here. Gemma’s heart melted as she lit the fire. A cat for Christmas, this was what she needed after a difficult year.

In the morning, the black cat was gone. In her place, a white kitten. “I will call you Snowfall,” whispered Gemma, a Christmas dream erupting like a shooting star in her heart.

The next Christmas Eve, Nina arrived home to find a black cat sleeping under a radiator. However, Nina worked for a local cat rescue and had five cats already. One phonecall later, the mystery black cat was en route to the cat shelter.

On Christmas Day, two volunteers arrived at the cat shelter. The new black cat arrival, Festive Fiona, was curled up asleep in her little bed. Next to her, was a pure white kitten.

April and Jasmine looked at each other, a knowing smile in their eyes. “So which one do you want?” It was a Christmas wish come true for Fiona and the surprise kitten, the first day in what would be their new homes.

Fiona slept in front of the fire that night, a Christmas purr in her chest. It was a forever home. She never strayed again, and no more impossible white kittens appeared in her wake.

Until the day she died one Christmas Eve many years later. April cried herself to sleep that night. In the morning, there was a white kitten in front of the fireplace. The kitten opened its eyes and purred. April’s tears flowed as a smile fingered her face. “I will call you Christmas Chloe.” For each time a cat leaves your life, it sends another in its place, a hello from heaven that will never leave your side.

A white kitten with blue eyes among pink and white baubles
Image by MsKuhn from Pixabay

So this Christmas, believe in feline magic and let festive miracles light your way. Look up to the stars, hear their secret song, and dream of white kittens and so so much more …. Merry Christmas, may an enchanted black cat cross your path and grant you wonders, and may 2026 deliver all your deepest wishes and more.

Pawprint Poems

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Autumn the tortoiseshell cat nursed three kittens, her glowing fur like autumn leaves on fire. Between her paws, the kittens were a picture postcard of stunning autumn leaf ginger. Born in late September, they breathed beauty like autumn leaves lilting in the wind.

A ginger kitten with wide grey and green eyes lying on a floor
Image by Ari_Bady from Pixabay

Ash, Rowan and Sycamore played among the leaves in the garden, autumn poetry in motion. Passersby would stop and stare, bewitched by the feline antics before them. Then at home they would sit still for a moment, inspiration like a cat’s paw patting their head. And words ran together like leaves lifting in the breeze. Little by little, the whole village were writing poems about autumn leaves.

Autumn’s owners were not immune. Jim and Sally sat together with notebooks in their hands and a storm of leaves inside. Poetry blew on the wind as the village beat to whispers of wonder.

Sally organised a poetry group, only to find her sitting room overrun such was the uptake. Everyone was writing poetry. Sally decided they would self-publish a collection. Autumn Leaves was ready by the end of the season.

As the kittens grew older and larger, the poetry did not stop, it only intensified. Leaves rustled underfoot as the villagers tried to sell their book of poetry. Meanwhile word spread like poetry seeds on the wind. People from all over the region came to the village, eager to pass the garden with the beautiful young cats, and to buy the book with its vibrant verses that bewitched the mind.

And little by little, the wider region began to write poetry. Letters to the editor of every local paper were filled with poems. Then the poetry reached the national papers too.

Sally set up a blog to celebrate autumn-themed poetry, complete with pictures of her growing kittens. Readers the world over were suddenly inspired to write poetry. And a renewed appreciation of autumn leaves painted its poem of hope everywhere, beauty turned to words that would last forever.

The kittens grew in to large and handsome cats. Everywhere they roamed, they spread wonder like a virus to vanquish sadness, a poem of purrs that would not be denied. And in their wake, stray autumn leaves danced like messengers from above. And the message was … poetry.

A love of poetry captured the hearts of the world. Everyone was writing poetry and even more were reading it. Poetry pamphlets became bestsellers, much to the astonishment of their authors. It was a revolution of the written word … and as poetry spread across the world, peace followed in its wake, like an autumn wish come true.

Three ginger cats played together in their garden, like autumn leaves they spun to music only they could hear. Their purr was a poem on the air, a ballet of beauty designed to delight. Whiskers and words intertwined to form autumn art. Like poems drifting on the wind, their nine lives were only just beginning … For when you find the perfect poem, it will never leave you. And autumn will arrive again, like a cat’s magic that lasts forever, the leaves of yesterday blowing to a tender tomorrow of dreams come true.

A ginger kitten with long white whiskers among leaves of a bush or tree
Image by Engin Akyurt from Pixabay

Mystic Meows

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By Rachel H Grant

A white whisker floated in the wind like a feline wish, blowing it knew not where, with a mission to whisper softly where it was needed most … a heart silently waiting.

The face of a black and white cat with white whiskers
Image by rachyt73 from Pixabay

The boy played in his back garden, the fairy house almost complete. Gently, a whisker landed on the tiny flint roof. Lewis laughed, feline fun in his eyes.

A black cat jumped on to the garden fence, its eyes sparkling like whiskers on fire. Lewis extended a shaking hand. The cat jumped down and ran to him, gently licking his hand. Lewis’ heart hiccupped. The fairy house was now surely blessed.

Several streets away, Malcolm sat motionless before his laptop, writer’s block hissing in his heart like an angry cat. Where was Sybil? With his black cat purring on his desk, the ideas would just flow like a feline waterfall of words.

Later that day, Sybil appeared again like a subconscious mind shadow. And ideas itched inside his brain. The novel needed a child character; he clearly pictured in his mind a little boy building a fairy house. He chuckled. Fairies it would be.

A year later, Malcolm’s hand reached for his cat, then realised that of course she was not there. It was his first book signing. He smiled and laughed, a strain in his heart and disbelief in his brain. He was here, he was published. Weeks ticked by like a clock in slow motion. Then the letters came. “You have written about my neighbour.” “Your book features my son.” “I recognise my grandmother.”

Disbelief lit in Malcolm’s heart, a candle of whispers in the night. Sybil, his inspiration … or just his village gossip? He called her name, anxious to look in her eyes and see if it were true. Did messages cross from her mind to his?

A black and white cat sitting on an open laptop
Image by Gerhild Klinkow from Pixabay

Sybil was not at home. The days passed like whiskers floating in the wind, and still she did not return. Malcolm mourned deep within, as words charged through the pages on his screen, little cats chasing birds, never catching them, never giving up …

Months turned to two years. Sybil was gone.

Then one day he found a novel on his doorstep, with a note on top: “I know where your cat is, from a feline-loving neighbour.”

Newly released “Black Cat Beauty” tickled his curiosity like a whisker dancing in his mind. The author biography explained that: “Ebony writes by day and turns in to a feline muse at night, her faithful black cat by her side.”

Malcolm began to read, astonishment piercing his heart like a cat crying in the night. The main character was none other than Martin, a middle aged man struggling to write with a black cat by his side. One day, the cat found a fairy house and made friends with a little boy. Martin wrote a children’s book about a boy and his fairy friends.

Not quite an exact fit – his fairy house featured as a mere aside in an adult village romance novel – however close enough. This writer was surely bewitched by his own feline word whisperer.

Two weeks later he stood unsure outside a famous bookshop in London. How to ask someone whether they own your cat? Only one way to find out …

Ebony was not what he expected. A crazy cat lady with straggling permed hair and a large cardigan … did not describe her at all. Long auburn hair, a glowing complexion and shining green eyes. His brain was bewitched … his heart hooked like a mouse in a cat’s jaw.

Stuttering, he tried to speak to her. “Cat … your cat … “ The words would not come, a writer’s tongue block, a poet’s paralysis in slow motion.

“Cat?” she repeated. “Yes Sable is my muse, a stray I adopted, or rather she found and adopted me, just turning up at my door one night. I wouldn’t be without her.”

So Malcolm shared a photo of his Sybil. The same eyes, an identical sleek coat … however black cats do look similar to each other. A meet up arranged, Sable ecstatically rubbed around Malcolm as he stood on the doorstep. Ownership proved, feline style.

Malcolm stared in to Sybil’s deep eyes and then looked up. Ebony was smiling in the doorway. “It looks like we co-own a cat!”

Malcolm and Ebony agreed to literally share the cat, month about. It seemed like a fair deal. As the months passed, the two writers became close. Poetic purrs tickled their hearts like a cat’s whisker inside.

Sybil purred by their side, silent secrets in her eyes. For a cat’s magic knows no words. Feline wonder embraced them. A cat’s whisker fell to the floor unseen. In the garden next door, a little boy played alone. A whisker fell to his feet. He laughed, picking it up. “This is a magic whisker,” he whispered to himself. The whisker was placed in his little box of favourite things. Decades later, a grown up author found his long lost box in the attic. “A whisker … ,” he laughed. As he held the whisker, ideas whispered in his mind like a cat’s purr. His fingers shook. It was time to write again …

So whiskers become words become books. Whiskers flying from mind to mind, feline tales lodging deep inside hearts. And like a whisker on the wind, whispers of cats long gone live on in the pages of tomorrow’s readers. Like a whisker in a box, words can last forever, echoing with black cat magic across an ebony eternity.

The face of a black cat with shining gold eyes against a black backdrop
Image by Михаил Прокопенко from Pixabay