Christmas Issues

In a small town in the Midwest, on a darkened street, in the wee hours of Christmas Eve morning a single light glows from a single bedroom. A reading lamp is on with a writer sitting under it.

Writer Lady is propped up in bed still wearing her warm jammies, blankets are covering her and keeping her toasty. A clipboard with a writing pad attached is resting across her lap. Pen in hand she looks up thoughtfully and then begins writing in her own flowing script.

Dear Santa

She crosses it out.

My Dearest Santa Claus

She crosses the new salutation out. She writes, Santa Baby... then mutters No, no I can't call him that. Too informal, besides he's married. You don't call a married man baby. Not having much luck with her letter she looks at the clock again. 6 am--finally! Writer Lady's face brightens, she looks over at Dobby who is curled up and sleeping soundly on the empty side of the bed.  Technically, it's not empty it's Dobby's side of the bed. Leaning over to him she says, “Dobby, kitty, time to get up. Wakie wakie.”

Dobby opens one eye and glares.

“It's 6 o'clock. See?” Writer Lady says pointing to the clock.

“I see.” Dobby says, glaring.

“It's Christmas Eve, time to get up. It's Christmas Eeeeve!” Writer Lady sings out badly, arms spread wide.

“Yeah. And. So.” Dobby says.

“I've been up for a while now. It's getting kind of lonely.”

“You've had some coffee too, huh Mom.” Dobby says stretching out his front legs. The ginger tabby yawns. “Jeez it's early.”

“He's getting up. He's getting up. Dobby's getting up!” Yep, that was more singing. “I'm so glad you're up. I have been working and working on this racking my brain and I'm just not getting anywhere.” Dobby stretches a little bit more, jumping off the bed he makes his way into the kitchen Writer Lady following and talking the whole time without taking a breath. He inspects the food bowl taking a few nibbles of food and gets a drink from the water bowl. “First I tried the simple approach...” Dobby goes to inspect his litter box with Writer Lady following close behind. “then the please excuse my behavior because I've been lonely, of course everyone gets lonely sometimes, things are okay most of the time, I have you, TP, Furnatche and everyone else so can I really say I'm lonely? Maybe I just need to get out once in a while, and then the I don't care but if you need an apology here's one.” Writer Lady stops on their way back through the kitchen to pour another cup of coffee on the way to the living room. Dobby settles down in his favorite spot on the floor and Writer Lady plops down on the couch.

“So what's the problem Mom?” Dobby asks.

“It's Christmas Eve. Santa is coming!”

“Yep. He is.” Dobby agrees.

Writer Lady groans in despair.

“Where's the excitement?” Dobby asks.

“Yeah, well...”

“You always run around the house on Christmas Eve singing Santa medleys and whenever someone says “Santa” you squeal a lot and scream about how much you love him.”

“He is kind of a big deal.”

“I know. You have been writing Santa letters all year long.”

“Then last night I had this dream and in the dream I found out I was actually kind of naughty this year.”

“All of the confidence behind your Santa letters has gone 'poof!' Dobby says.

“Run away like a thief in the night...stealing my peace of mind. I have been awake since midnight trying to write a new Santa letter.”

Dobby yawns, stretching for a moment. “So let's hear it.” He says.

“That's the problem. I never wrote it.”

“You have been up for six hours and you haven't written anything?” Dobby asks.

“No Bubby. I can't even decide on a salutation.” Writer Lady says.

“So you're blocked?”

“Like I ate a twelve inch cheesecake all by myself.”

Dobby gets up and walks over to where Writer Lady sits rubbing his head against her ankles “Poor Mom,” he says. He jumps up on the couch and sits down next to her for an ear scratch. “What do you want to say?” Dobby asks.

Writer Lady obliges, “The usual. I can explain. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to do that. I know that I'm an adult and I should know better but sometimes I don't.” Writer Lady looks at Dobby. “You know that expression is a bit of a cop out. Adults don't always know better or we get excited and forget to be better. No one wants to take the time to verify that we know better or explain why we should behave differently. It's kind of lazy.”

“Mom...”

“I'm trying to blame others aren't I?”

The ginger tabby nods.

“Well, I'm sorry but, if someone had taken me quietly aside and said, 'Do you remember when you...?' If I remembered and they said please don't do that again...”

“I know, you wouldn't have done it again.” Dobby says.

“No, I probably would have done it again. I don't learn the first time. But after they pointed it out for the second time then I wouldn't have done it again. I learn after the second time. Okay, once in a while I don't learn until the third time but mostly I learn after the second.”

Dobby runs his paw down his face. He can tell this is going to be a long day.

“I don't know what's going to happen. What do I do now? It wouldn't be possible to do enough good deeds to redeem my “Nice” status by midnight. You would have to do something really big to accomplish that like saving the planet from being struck by a meteor or something. It would probably kill you. I'm thinking that's not really the best option.”

“Probably not Mom.”

“Okay what else? My cookies are incredible, I wonder if he can be bribed.”

“Bribery immediately puts you on the Naughty list.”

“Are you sure?” Writer Lady asks.

“I'm sure.”

“I thought bribery was only bad if you used it for political power or you did it all the time, like every day.”

“Trust me Mom, bribing Santa is an automatic Naughty.”

“You're absolutely sure?”

“Do you remember the Christmas of 2010?” Dobby asks.

“Now I remember, you tried that already. So bribing Santa is definitely a 'No'. What did you use, a hairball?”

“I'm a cat. What else do I have?”

“Seriously.”

“Besides a hairball comes from the heart.”

“It comes from your stomach kitty.” Writer Lady points out.

“It's warm?”

“This conversation has gotten pretty gross. Can we get back to my problem?”

“It's all about you isn't it Mom?”

“Dobby.”

“Okay, okay.”

Both sit together contemplating what to do next. “We could move to wherever he stops last maybe Santa will be so tired he'll leave me something anyway.”

“Mom, Christmas of 2012.” Dobby says.

“Oh yeah. You tried that already too.”

“Do you have any real confirmation that you are on the Naughty list?” Dobby asks.

“The dream.” Writer Lady says.

“That's it. A dream?”

“Well...yeah. Dreams tell me stuff.”

“How often are these dreams accurate?”

“Christmas of 2011.” Writer Lady says looking at Dobby.

“Okay, so they can be accurate.”

“You do get into things during Christmas don't you kitty?”

“Yeah, I kind of do.” Dobby agrees and starts taking a bath.

“What are you doing kitty? You're supposed to thinking.”

Dobby looks up at Writer Lady, his tongue sticking out. “Bwainstoming?” Dobby slobbers and licks while Writer Lady bwainstomes, sorry, brainstorms as well. She does it with pen and paper though. “I got it!” Dobby says. “The Internet. Everything is on the Internet now. Maybe Santa is too.”

“I never thought Darth Vader would have a Twitter account.” Writer Lady says. “I guess it wouldn't hurt to look.” Entering High Command Writer Lady settles down into the Big Writing Chair for some major research and within a few minutes, “Here we are.” Writer Lady says. Dobby sits perched on the arm of her chair. “Santa's list. For status type in full name and press 'Enter'. I'm typing in my full name and...Nice? It says Nice. I'm still nice.” Scooping Dobby into her arms she holds on tight.

“Mom.” Dobby croaks. “Chok-ing me. Chok-ing me.”

“Ooops. Sorry kitty. I'm still on the Nice list. Wow. Let's check your status. I'll just type in Dobby Cat Apostos and... 'On The Fence'. You're on the fence.” Writer Lady looks at Dobby. “Why are you on the fence kitty?” She turns back to the computer for more information. “Wait a second I can click here and find out. You have a number two offense. What's a number two? Biting a reindeer. You bit a reindeer? Why did you bite a reindeer?”

“I don't want to talk about it Mom.”

“Kitty, I feed you, I give you treats, I taught you not to bite. Why are you biting reindeer?”

“I really don't want to talk about it.”

Writer Lady looks at Dobby waiting for the answer.

“TP told me they tasted just like chicken.”