Christmas Animal Tales Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Fuzzy – Adèle Geras

  A House for a Mouse – Micheal Broad

  The Christmas Dragon – Vivian French

  Anita’s Christmas – Maeve Friel

  Little Donkey – Anna Wilson

  Bell – Penny Dolan

  The Kitten Tree – Holly Webb

  Talking Turkey – Alan Durant

  Copyright

  Other books in this series

  Annabel was longing for Christmas. Christmas Eve was a week away and today was the last day of school before the holidays. The children had spent days and days making decorations to put up in the classroom, and there were paper chains looped over the windows and a big tree in the corner by the nature table, which was hung with stars and glittery balls and tinsel in pretty colours.

  The best decoration of all was the big picture stuck on the wall above the bookshelves. Everyone had helped to make it and they’d only finished it yesterday. There was a fireplace in the picture, with red and green stocking-shapes hanging off the mantelpiece, ready for Santa Claus to fill with gifts when he’d popped down the chimney. Everyone could see Santa was coming, because there were his black boots, just visible in the background. Each child had chosen something special to make and Mrs Bowen had made sure that every single thing was firmly stuck to the paper. Kevin had cut out some golden stars and you could see them in the window. Parveen had coloured in some paper mince pies and these were glued to a paper plate and arranged by the fire. Some people made ornaments, some made chairs and tables, and others made toys to lie around on the floor in front of the fire.

  When the children were choosing what they wanted to do, Annabel’s hand went up first.

  “Please, Mrs Bowen, can I paint a picture of a cat?”

  Everyone laughed. They all knew that Annabel was cat-mad and she liked ginger cats best of all. She drew them on scraps of rough paper; she used orange paint to put a cat into every single picture; she played cat games with her friends at playtime and they said: “Why don’t you get a real cat?”

  Annabel wrinkled her nose. “I keep asking my mum and dad,” she told them. “They say: ‘all in good time’.”

  “What does that mean?” Holly wanted to know.

  “I don’t know,” said Annabel, “but I think it might mean ‘no’.”

  “Of course, Annabel,” said Mrs Bowen. “Let’s make a really splendid cat for the picture. Look at what I’ve got for you.”

  Annabel went over to see what Mrs Bowen had found in her box, the one she always called a treasure-chest. This box was full of scraps of shiny satin, soft velvet and glittery gauze. There were balls of wool in sugary colours, ribbons and braid and lace and scarves and sequins in packets and a roll of cotton-woolly white fleece fabric that was going to be very useful at Easter. Mrs Bowen told Annabel, “We’ll have a field up there on the wall in the spring, and you can all make lovely white lambs to go in it. But just for now, we’re Christmassy, aren’t we, Annabel, and we need a cat to sit by the fire and wait for Santa. Look at this.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Annabel smiled. She looked at the square of fabric, which was a sandy kind of orange. “I’d love a ginger cat. I’d love a cat that was exactly that colour.”

  “Yes, dear. I know how you feel about ginger cats. Let’s cut out the shape and you can stick the whiskers on and put the cat in the right place.”

  “Can my cat have a ribbon round its neck?” Annabel wanted to know.

  “Of course. You choose the colour.”

  Annabel chose a special white Christmassy ribbon that had tiny red holly berries with green leaves on it.

  When the cat-shape was ready to stick on to the picture, Annabel added the ribbon, which was now tied in a bow, and glued a few black pipe-cleaners to the cat’s face.

  “I’m going to call my cat Fuzzy,” she said.

  “It’s not your cat,” said Kevin. “It’s the class cat.”

  “But I made it. And I’m going to take it home with me for Christmas, aren’t I, Mrs Bowen?”

  “We’ll see, Annabel. For the moment, we want it in the picture. All your mums and dads will be coming in to see what we’ve made, when we have our carol concert tomorrow.”

  Before the carol concert, Annabel took her mum and dad to see the class picture.

  “Look!” she said. “That’s my cat. That’s Fuzzy. Isn’t he sweet? Stroke him. See how furry he is. I wish I could have a real cat just like him.”

  “What a lovely picture!” said Annabel’s mum, stroking Fuzzy and then moving on to look at something else. “I think you’re very clever, all of you. And Fuzzy’s really life like, isn’t he?”

  On Christmas Eve, Annabel and her little brother Henry helped their dad to get everything ready for Santa.

  “Mince pies!” Annabel told Henry. “Santa loves mince pies.”

  Mum had put four on a plate and Annabel placed this near the chimney. “You can’t light a fire in here tonight,” she said to her dad. “Santa’s boots would get singed as he came down the chimney.”

  “Righty-oh,” said Dad, pouring a little sherry into a glass and putting it near the mince-pie plate. “He’ll need a sherry, I think, don’t you? After all that riding about in the sleigh that he does.”

  “Henry!” Annabel shrieked. “Look, Dad, Henry’s eaten one of Santa’s pies! You’re naughty, Henry. Very, very naughty.”

  Henry grinned and Dad said, “Never mind, Annabel. He’s just a bit greedy and he’s only a baby. Don’t look so worried. We’ll get another pie for Santa.”

  “I wish I could have brought Fuzzy back from school with me,” Annabel said. “Mrs Bowen said I could have him after the holidays. In the New Year. But I wish he could come to our house for Christmas.”

  “Never mind, dear,” Dad said. “It’ll soon be school time again and then you can bring Fuzzy home. He’ll be fine in the classroom till you get back, don’t worry.”

  Annabel sighed and decided to think about tomorrow. There would be lots of presents and delicious food and Granny and Grandad were coming for lunch. And the mince-pie plate and the sherry glass looked just right. She was ready for bed now. The quicker she fell asleep, the sooner Christmas morning would be here.

  When Annabel woke up, it was still dark. It must be the middle of the night, she thought, because Henry was still asleep and he always woke up very, very early in the morning. She could hear a noise, coming from downstairs. What was it? It sounded… no, it couldn’t be, could it …? It sounded like a kitten, miaowing. She got out of bed and tiptoed to the top of the stairs. The door to the lounge was closed. The noise was coming from the kitchen. Did she dare go downstairs on her own? The landing light was on, because Henry was scared of the dark. Annabel wasn’t really scared because she was a big girl, but she liked the light on as well.

  There was a big, box-like thing on the kitchen floor by the radiator. Annabel came closer; the miaowing noise was definitely coming from it. Could it be? She knew what cat baskets looked like and this was a cat basket, she was quite sure. It was bigger than any other basket she’d ever seen and it had a little window cut out of one side, with wire bars across it. You could see in, though, and Annabel held her breath as she bent down to have a look. When she saw what was in the basket, she cried out, “A ginger kitten! Oh, it’s a real cat!”

  She sprang up, wanting to tell someone, but everyone was asleep. What time was it? She went into the hall to look at the big clock and saw that it was nearly five.

  “It’s you, is it?” said Mum, leaning over the banister on the landing. “I heard someone walking about. I thought it might be Santa.”

  “Mum! There’s a kitten in the kitchen. Have you seen it? Did
you bring it? Was it Santa?”

  Mum came downstairs and gave Annabel a hug. “No, that was us, I’m afraid. Santa doesn’t do big cat baskets. A thing that size would never fit down the chimney, would it? And cats aren’t all that fond of reindeer. Dad and I had to fetch Fuzzy ourselves. From Mrs Gradwell, down the road. Her cat had a litter of kittens a few weeks ago.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “We wanted it to be a surprise on Christmas Day. Well, that hasn’t quite worked out, but never mind. It’s Christmas Eve.”

  “Can I call him Fuzzy?”

  “What do you think? Dad and I have been calling him that ever since we saw your lovely cat in the classroom picture.”

  “I love him,” Annabel said. The miaowing had stopped. “He’s asleep, I think.” She went over to the basket to check. “Yes, he’s all curled up. He’s so lovely.”

  “I’m glad you like him,” Mum said. “Now how about coming upstairs for a bit more sleep yourself?”

  They left the kitchen together. Annabel knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but she didn’t mind. She decided to lie in bed and think about Fuzzy and all the fun they were going to have together.

  It was Christmas Eve and Lucy’s parents were tucking her into bed. They kissed her goodnight, turned out the light, and were about to leave the room when she sat up and frowned.

  Lucy was a bright girl who was at the age where she’d started asking questions, big questions like, “What does the tooth fairy do with all those teeth?” And from the look on her face, her mum and dad knew she was about to ask another.

  “Is Santa Claus really real?” she asked. “Or do you go to the shops and buy my presents instead?”

  Lucy’s parents laughed and admitted that they sometimes helped Santa with some of the gifts, but that he was still absolutely, definitely real. Then they exchanged smiles and secret glances.

  Grown-ups are often unaware that their children see everything, and Lucy saw the smiles and secret glances. But she accepted their answer and lay back down again.

  “We’ll see,” she whispered, because Lucy had a secret of her own.

  Unlike most children on Christmas Eve, Lucy didn’t feel the need to gaze out of her window for a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh. Come morning, she would know whether he was real or not.

  So, she closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.

  In the street below Lucy’s window, a tiny mouse was waking up. He poked his nose outside the crisp bag that was his home, and looked around cautiously.

  The mouse didn’t know it was Christmas, but he knew something was going on. Over the last few nights twinkle lights had appeared in the windows of the houses, there was extra food in his regular bins, and now snow was falling everywhere.

  He thought the snow looked very nice, but the cold nibbled his feet.

  The mouse had also noticed that families were gathering together, and as he shuffled from his crisp bag with a shiver, he decided they were probably gathering together for warmth.

  The mouse had no family and no one to get warm with, so he looked up at the windows of the nearest house and was pleased to see the lights were all switched off. Knowing this meant everyone had gone to bed, he took it as an invitation to go inside and shelter from the snow.

  The mouse wriggled through the letterbox and scampered across the carpet into the living room, where he was surprised to find a large tree decorated with coloured lights.

  Beneath the tree there were parcels wrapped in patterned paper, and because paper is very good for keeping mice warm in the winter, he tore off two strips and wrapped them around his feet.

  The mouse was about to go in search of food when he saw something odd inside the torn parcel, so he lifted it out and held it to the light of the tree. It was a tiny knitted jumper, and he knew what it was for because he’d seen people wearing them.

  The jumper was much too small for a person, so he decided it must be for him and pulled it on. It was very warm, so the mouse continued to rip at the parcels and found more tiny clothes, but most of them were dresses and probably not for him.

  Then he saw an enormous parcel and ripped a small section of paper away to find a tiny green door. A few more rips uncovered windows, a chimney, and after a very long time spent climbing and ripping and kicking away scraps of paper, a whole house was revealed!

  This house is just the right size for a mouse to live in, he thought.

  The little mouse opened the door, switched on the lights and then raced around inside exploring all the rooms. The dining room reminded the mouse that he’d not eaten for a while, but although the table was laid out for dinner there was no food on the plates, and after the excitement of all the paper ripping and house exploring, he felt worn out. So he pulled out a chair at the tiny dining table and sat down to rest.

  Suddenly the mouse heard a noise and peered through the little window.

  In the room outside he could see a pair of black boots in the cold ashes of the fireplace, then a large man dressed in red stepped out and dusted the snowflakes from his shoulders. The mouse froze as the strange man approached the mantelpiece, where someone had left a glass of sherry and a mince pie. He wished he’d seen the mince pie first, but kept perfectly still as the intruder sipped from the glass and took a bite from the pie.

  The man in red pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket, read it carefully, and then glanced around the room as though he was looking for something. When he saw the bundles of torn paper he chuckled to himself and headed straight for the little house beside the tree.

  The mouse quivered in his seat as the whole front wall of the dining room creaked open like a door and a rosy red face with a long white beard appeared in its place.

  “There you are!” The man smiled.

  The little mouse looked up guiltily. But instead of chasing him outside with a broom, like most people did, the man broke off a section of mince pie and placed it carefully on the plate in front of him.

  “Merry Christmas!” he said and carefully closed the dining room wall.

  The mouse was very hungry so he ate the mince pie straight away. It was quite a large portion for such a small creature and took him a while to eat it all. When he’d finished off every crumb, the little mouse moved over to the window and found he was alone again.

  The mouse was not sure what to make of the man in red, but after all the unwrapping, and the exploring, and the delicious mince pie, he felt exhausted.

  Dawn was already breaking on Christmas Day when the little mouse climbed the stairs in his new little house.

  He knew it wasn’t really his house, because mice don’t live in houses. But he’d had such a nice time and didn’t want to return to the crisp bag just yet.

  The tired mouse drew the curtains in the bedroom, climbed into bed and wrapped the blanket around him. He didn’t mind that he would get chased into the snow later, for now he was happy in a warm little house for a mouse.

  So he drifted off to sleep.

  Upstairs, Lucy was waking. It wasn’t a slow, lazy waking. It was an eager duvet-up-in-the-air waking as she leaped from her bed, pulled on her dressing gown and burst into her parents’ bedroom.

  “It’s Christmas Day!” she yelled, jumping up and down with excitement.

  Lucy’s parents opened their drowsy eyes and smiled.

  “Can we go downstairs to see if Santa brought my presents?” Lucy asked.

  “Of course, darling,” yawned her mother. “But I’m sure they’re all there. I saw the list you wrote to Santa Claus and I have to say, you really didn’t ask for much this year.”

  “I heard the elves in Santa’s workshop built an extra big dolls’ house this year, for a very special girl,” said her father, with a knowing smile. “And I know for certain that Mrs Claus has been busy making dolls’ clothes.”

  “Oh, I’m sure those things will be there, they were on the main list,” said Lucy casually. “But I want to see if Santa Claus got my other letter, the secre
t one that I didn’t tell anyone about.”

  Lucy’s parents immediately sat up in bed. “Another letter?” they gasped.

  “Yes, I put my best present on it just to see if Santa Claus was really real,” she said. “I addressed it to the North Pole and posted it myself.”

  Secret glances turned into worried glances as Lucy’s parents followed her downstairs. They looked even more worried when they stepped into the living room and found the mess of shredded paper under the Christmas tree.

  Lucy ignored the mess, stepped through the torn paper and looked at all the open gifts. Then she took a deep breath and carefully lifted the roof off the dolls’ house.

  Lucy gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth to stop from shrieking out.

  The girl’s worried parents rushed to her side and stared into the bedroom of the dolls’ house, where a tiny mouse was fast asleep in a miniature bed, wrapped in a miniature blanket.

  “Santa Claus is real!” Lucy whispered, crouching down and gently stroking the soft furry head of the sleeping mouse. “I asked him for my very own mouse, to love and to hug and to live in my new dolls’ house. And he brought me one!” “I asked him for my very own mouse, to love and to hug and to live in my new dolls’ house. And he brought me one!”

  Old Fox came pattering through the woods, leaving sharp little paw prints in the crisp white snow.

  “Coooeeee!” he called. “Are you awake?”

  Dragon opened a heavy-lidded eye. Puffs of smoke floated into the air, and over Old Fox’s head. Old Fox sneezed.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he complained. “The smoke gets up my nose.”

  Dragon opened the other eye. “I am a dragon,” he said.

  Old Fox sneezed twice more. “Well – I suppose you can’t help it. At least it keeps things warm round here.”