“I thought you wanted a mountain bike!” Michael’s gran said. Michael opened his eyes. “I’m saving for a mountain bike,” he replied. “I’ve been saving for ages. But I’d like a kitten for my Christmas present.”
“You got a kitten last Christmas,” his mum reminded him.
“But that wasn’t a real one,” Michael argued.
Because he’d kept on about kittens so much, one of Michael’s presents last year had been a toy kitten, with fluffy ginger fur and curly whiskers. He now sat on the shelf above Michael’s bed. Sometimes, when no one was looking, Michael gave him a cuddle.
“You’re too young to look after a real kitten yourself,” Mrs Tappin said.
“I still want one,” said Michael. “I’ll always want one.”
“They cost a lot of money, kittens do,” said his gran. “There’s food and vet’s bills.”
“And cat baskets and flea collars!” Mrs Tappin put in.
“But Archie doesn’t cost you much, does he, Gran?” Michael asked. He stroked the pale fur on Archie’s tummy, which was soft as feathers.
“Not now,” his gran replied. “He doesn’t need a lot of fuss and expense. All he needs now is a laze in front of the fire and a snooze.” She smiled. “Like me!”
Michael put his face close to Archie’s and touched the tip of the cat’s damp, pink nose with his own. Archie’s whiskers quivered and one ear twitched slightly. “Did he play a lot when he was younger? Did he do naughty things?” he asked.
“Oh, my goodness, yes,” said his gran. “He used to run up these curtains quicker than a rat up a drainpipe!”
“One Christmas he climbed the tree!” Michael’s mum put in. She nodded towards the funny old plastic Christmas tree that his gran put up every Christmas. It was a bit bent and a bit bare. But she said she liked it like that.
“That’s how it got bent,” said his gran.
Michael looked at Archie’s crumpled, sleeping face. “Oh, please let me have a kitten!”
Michael’s mum and gran looked at each other again.
“You’ll have enough money for your bike soon,” Mrs Tappin said. “Then you won’t want to stay in with a kitten.”
“I will,” said Michael. “I’ll have plenty of time left for a kitten.”
Michael’s gran walked over to the window. “It said on the news that it’s going to snow,” she said. “We might have a white Christmas this year!”
Michael looked up. “That would be great!” Then he sighed, and leant down to scratch the soft furry folds around Archie’s neck. “But not as great as having a kitten,” he said quietly to himself.
On the way home, it began, very gently, to snow. A few flakes circled the street lights and fluttered to rest on Michael’s anorak.
Chapter Two
On Christmas morning, Michael woke up at six o’clock. Christmas Day, he thought. Presents!
It was still dark but there was a strange glow coming through the curtains. Michael jumped out of bed to have a look. He pulled back the curtain. “Snow!” he breathed.
There was snow everywhere: on the road, in the gardens, along the roofs of the houses opposite.
Michael had never seen so much snow. “Oh, wow!” he said. Part of him wanted to dash out and build a snowman. But then . . . Christmas was waiting!
There, in the shadows by the bottom of his bed, Michael saw his stocking. It was bulging with presents! Full of excitement, Michael dragged it up and tipped everything out onto his bed.
All the parcels were wrapped in silver and gold. Michael tore off the wrapping to find all sorts of goodies. His favourites were a box with a black cat on it and a book about kittens.
Right at the bottom of the stocking, in its toe, Michael found a handful of chocolate coins covered in gold foil. He peeled four of them, crammed them in his mouth and then pulled on a jumper, ready to race downstairs.
Under the tree in the sitting room, he knew he’d find his big presents. He still hoped that there might . . . just possibly . . . be a kitten.
Downstairs, the sitting room was lit by the same soft glow as Michael’s bedroom. Under the tree, parcels of all different shapes, colours and sizes had arrived, as if by magic. But Michael couldn’t see a kitten.
For a moment he felt disappointed.
“Michael!” his mum called from upstairs. “We can hear you!”
“Come up and show us your presents!” his dad said.
Michael began to feel a little bit excited again as he looked at the parcels with his name on them. “Coming!” he called back. He picked up as many of his presents as he could carry and made for the door. But just as he was going out of the room, Michael heard a strange noise.
Miaooww!
Michael was so surprised he dropped some of the parcels he was carrying. He put the rest of them down and began to look for where the noise was coming from.
He looked under the sofa, under the table and chairs, and behind the sideboard. But no luck.
He looked behind the bookcase and out in the hall. He still couldn’t find anything. Perhaps he’d imagined it.
Miaaowww!
But there it was again! And it was coming from outside . . .
Michael ran over to the curtains and pulled them open. The garden was blanketed with snow.
And there, pressed up against the glass door that led to the back garden, was a small black kitten. A very snowy kitten.
“Oh!” Michael cried. He opened the door and scooped up the kitten in his arms. “What are you doing out there in the snow?”
Holding the bedraggled black bundle against the warmth of his jumper, Michael shivered and quickly closed the door. “I wonder who you belong to?” he whispered.
The kitten looked up at Michael with bright green eyes, then mewed.
And to Michael, it seemed she was saying, “I belong to you!”
Chapter Three
Very quietly, Michael crept upstairs to his bedroom. He put the kitten on his bed and covered it with a fold of duvet to keep it warm.
He stroked its soft damp fur, hardly able to believe it. A kitten, waiting for him on Christmas morning!
The kitten was black, except for a white, star-shaped mark that stretched from nose to chest.
“I’m going to call you Star,” Michael decided. He thought the kitten looked like a girl. He tickled her tiny pointed ears. “You’re my Christmas Star!”
The kitten began to purr softly, and rubbed a tiny black cheek against Michael’s hand.
“Michael, what are you doing?” came his dad’s voice.
“Almost there!” Michael called back. He didn’t dare tell his mum and dad about Star. They might not let him keep her. No, he’d have to hide her for the time being. And then, after Christmas, he’d think about what to do.
Michael bent to kiss Star’s soft forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Star,” he whispered. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”
Quietly, Michael left his bedroom and went downstairs to pick up some of his parcels again.
“Happy Christmas!” his mum and dad said as he went into their bedroom. “Let’s see your presents.”
There were some great things in Michael’s parcels – a computer game, a video and two more books from his favourite animal series. There was also a safety lock, a horn and some lights for his bike – and some money from his gran towards buying it!
“So are you pleased, love?” Mrs Tappin asked, smiling.
Michael nodded. “They’re all brilliant!” he said happily. Especially my secret present, he thought to himself.
Later that morning, Michael’s mum and dad were getting suspicious. Usually Michael spent Christmas morning downstairs, playing with his new toys and watching TV, but today he’d spent a lot of time upstairs in his room.