June 25th: A Newsletter

In the sixth month of Christmas...

• Letter from the Editor

• "How to Get Your Cat into the Holiday Spirit" by Tilda Swinton

• Recipe for Disaster

• “The Twelve Months of Christmas” Chapter Six

• Christmas Puzzle to Make You Go awooooga

How to Get Your Cat into the Holiday Spirit

by Tilda Swinton

Christmas is for you; yes, of course it is, my duck. But don’t you wish others to feel the joy as well? Aw, what a dear you are! Now, some among us are curmudgeons, how unbelievable is that? Your neighbors and friend may not have quite the same gift of wisdom that you do. Curmudgeonliest of all the world’s creatures, however, are cats. 

Never fear! Here are some ways that you can decorate your kitten to get it into the holiday spirit with the rest of us. 

1. Holiday outfits. Any number of retail outlets will have options for you here, although their stock will probably be depleted during the summer months. (Yes, little darling, it is a sign of the degenerate age we live in. Hush now.) Santa hats! Elf suits! Whatever your heart desires. Of course, you can also make your own costumes with some time and creativity. Look around your apartment - could your old socks be reindeer hooves? Could the mangled and petrified limbs of the monster you killed two months ago that now sits in the depths of your closet become antlers? Yes, now you’ve got it! What a handsome cat! And if your pretty pet won’t keep the outfit on, hot glue is always an option.

2. Sandwich boards. Strap a sign to your furry friend - given enough time, you might be able to sway the fiend’s opinions. For example, a sandwich board reading, “Christmas is a state of mind. It is Christmas, not June” or “I love Christmas almost as much as I hate your guts” or even “Meow [translation: CHRISTMAS SHALL COME FOR THE BELIEVERS AND THE UNBELIEVERS. THE CAROLLER’S NAME SHALL RING OUT AS THE TINSEL RAINS FROM THE HEAVENS. ALL WHO DO NOT BOW IN REVERENCE SHALL BREAK IN AGONY. GO TELL IT ON THE MOUNTAIN; THE SILVER BELLS ARE RINGING.”] It may take a few weeks, but once the kitten grows accustomed to the sign, it’ll be as merry as the rest of us!

3. Parade float. If you don’t want to go the outfit route, you can also jazz up your kitten’s locomotion. Build a small (or large! The world is your oyster, dearie mine) parade float, embellished with all manner of Christmas paraphernalia for your cat to ride around in. It’s typical for the critter to find this highly insulting and uncomfortable for the first few weeks, but in time it will adjust. Even prison can be home, as no one says. 

No, darling, none of this suggestions have been reviewed or approved by any agency inspecting animal cruelty. What has that got to do with anything? 

There are so many ways to forcibly exile your pet from the realm of bah humbuggery - we’ve only scratched the cliche surfaces here. Now run along and grab your hot glue, dearie. 

"The Twelve Months of Christmas"

by Kafryn Swargyn

***

Chapter Six:  Six Geese A-Laying

Agony. 

Agony is the sound of geese. Of course you expected the six geese now sitting on their eggs in the shade of the stables. You did not, for whatever reason, anticipate the abominable horde of other non-laying geese in the pond a few yards from your cell. Dozens of them, geese, ganders, and goslings, just goofing and gabbing and giving you a headache. 

Every day or two, one of those stone-faced guards comes to take you for a walk around the palace grounds. The Caroller call this exercise “a gift” and “an act of charity beyond that which curmudgeons deserve, but then I always a little soft at heart.” You call it as annoying as everything else that happened around here. At least it’s a chance to work the pins and needles out of your legs. It’s always the same. You walked in a loop around the castle-ish thing for twenty minutes or so, then straight back into the cell you went.

Today it’s a bit different. A guard you’ve never seen before appears. He’s trying to be aloof, but he looks nervous. First day on the job, you guess. He keeps stealing glances to his right, towards the pond and all the horrid birds. It looks like you might have something in common. 

He tucks his sharpened peppermint stick under his arm and unlocked the cell door. You walk first towards the pond. He leaves your wrists shackled, of course. Can’t trust someone as grumpy as you not to smack things. 

As usual, that one goose screams. For reasons you don’t care to wonder about, she’s taken an irrational dislike to you. Today she squawks so loudly that the very earth seems to tremble. And now so does the guard. He jumps a full six inches off the ground, stumbling as he lands. He tries to right himself, but he still looks like he’s about to start hyperventilating. The peppermint stick slips out of his sweaty hands, his eyes glaze over. He walks quickly, dragging you behind. You imagine he is trying to run away, but that scream put him in such a panic that he’s confused. You walk right into the middle of the pond before he comes to his senses. 

Water up to your waists, and a crowd of geese around you. What a lovely way to spend the afternoon. He jumps again in surprise, dropping your chains. He backs out onto land. You try to follow. But before you can, that goose cries again. All the other geese seem to stand at attention. One by one, the six geese a-laying squawk. As one great, horrifying unit, the other geese turn, bearing down on you. 

“Christmas is coming, darling,” the first goose says to you. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“I want to be anywhere other than here,” you say, trying to stay calm. If there was one thing you did not fancy, it was another traumatic bird encounter.

“But to do that you must join the Caroller, mustn't you, dearie?” Another goose says.

“I-- oh just get whatever this is over with.”

“Hmm… this will be a good learning experience, child. SQUAWK!”

And the birds are on you. You are under the water, birds splashing and slapping and pecking at you as you struggle to hold your breath. This is quite literally a horror movie, you think as your lungs start to burn. 

Vaguely, you think you can hear chanting. “Christmas SQUAWK is joy SQUAWK Christmas SQUAWK is life SQUAWK Christmas SQUAWK--”

It cuts off. The water stills suddenly. A pair of hands pulls you upright. 

“--now, now, goslings, mine,” the Caroller calls from her balcony. “Don’t go murdering my guest. Be good.” She glances at you, smirks, then walks back inside.

“I hate her,” you whimper. “So very much.”

“You’re not the only one,” is the whispered reply. The person now supporting you is familiar. One of the milkmaids you’ve seen about the place. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

You stumble onto solid ground and ring out your clothes as bet we can. You turn to say thank you again, but she’s already scurrying back to the barn. The guard prods you back to your cell. No more walk today. You curl up with your ratty blanket, and think about what the milkmaid said. Maybe you can talk to her again one of these days, if only to gripe with a sympathetic Caroller-hater. Together, is there a chance…? Plans are slow to form with your brain in its present state. Maybe tomorrow. You fall asleep.

To be continued....

A Holiday Puzzle Just for You!

kindly supplied by kidspuzzlesandgames.co.uk because, no, I could not be bothered