The Spell of Christmas

Chapter 1 Marc opened the closet and reached in to pull out his suitcase. “Ow!” He snatched his hand back and looked at the four bloody scratches decorating it. Again? He grabbed the flashlight off the nightstand and pointed it into the dark recesses of the closet. Glowing eyes appeared. Clotilda, of course. “This is the last time you’re going to savage me, Clo. If you can’t be polite, you’re going outside to live in the feral colony.” He stuck one hand inside a shoe for protection and, hooking the shoulder strap, used it to drag both suitcase and cat out of the closet. The angry Himalayan hissed at him and stalked out of the bedroom. Marc sighed as he watched her. Something needed to be done about Clotilda. But he wasn’t looking forward to the argument he’d get from Owen. He smiled at the thought that when it came to the cats, Marc’s lover was a p***y. He tossed the suitcase on the bed and started gathering clothes for his visit home. Christmas with his mom and dad and his little brother would be wonderful. It’d been months since he’d found time to see them. But despite looking forward to being with his family, guilt at leaving Owen home alone at Christmas pricked at him. True, as a Wiccan, Owen celebrated Yule and not Christmas. But still, they should spend both holidays together. This year especially. Because this year Marc was determined to introduce Owen to his mom and dad as the man he intended to marry. In the eighteen months they’d been together, Owen had always found some excuse not to meet Marc’s family. So Marc hadn’t pressed the issue. Now having completed his Master’s degree in music, Owen might want to move somewhere he could put his education to use. And Marc didn’t want to risk giving the man even a tiny push towards leaving. He heard the front door open and Owen call out, “Marc?” “I’m in the bedroom packing. Did you have any trouble on the roads?” Owen’s voice floated down the narrow hallway. “No trouble, they’re salted. But you should see the huge snowbanks in Kenston. It’s like driving through canyons. “You haven’t been to town for a while—it’s like that here, too.” Marc wondered why Owen hadn’t joined him in the bedroom. “Hey, do you know where the small heating pad is? Oh, never mind, I found it.” Marc froze. No. Please, no. Owen had promised. Marc abandoned his packing and went to the spare bedroom they’d turned into a nursery and recuperation area for all the strays Owen seemed to attract. Pausing in the doorway, he watched as Owen folded towels and placed them over the heating pad inside a cat carrier. A telltale cardboard box sat on the floor next to him. Promising himself he’d remain calm, Marc asked, “What’s in the box, babe?” Owen whipped around and color surged into his cheeks. “Well, when I dropped off Jenny and her litter at the rescue, somebody came in with a boxful.” His tone turned pleading. “Their mother was killed, and with the holidays, no one was available to take them—” “So you volunteered.” Marc was not smiling. “Well, yeah. But only for a couple weeks. Then I promise, they go right back to the rescue to be put up for adoption.” Marc moved into the room, opened the box, and peered in. Four tiny orange creatures, all jumbled into a squirmy ball, were nested in a blanket. “These kittens aren’t even two weeks old. They need to be bottle-fed round the clock. And they’ll be here for at least six weeks.” “I know. But I’ll take care of them.” “Owen, we talked about this. You can’t—” “But they’re orange.” Marc could see the distress in Owen’s eyes. Owen still hadn’t gotten over how Gideon, the huge, orange Maine Coon, had moved on. They still saw a flash of orange near the river every now and then, enough to know he was still alive. But not finding him waiting every morning on the porch anymore still hurt Owen. “I understand. But we agreed—no more cats until we get rid of the ones we’ve got. And if you recall, we also agreed to limit the number inside the house to ten. These four bring our count to twenty.” “I know, but it’s temporary. It’ll be much better when the pole barn is done. Then we’ll only have the newborns in the house.” “That would be great, but the pole barn isn’t anywhere near done, and it’s going to take a lot of money to finish it. Money we don’t have because we spend it on endless food and litter and supplies.” Owen scooped up the kittens and the blanket and tucked them into the cat carrier. Marc continued, “You know I’m fine donating my services as a vet. But everything else still costs money—anesthesia, sutures, vaccines, tests, drugs.” Owen broke down the empty box and took it out to the kitchen trash. Marc followed him. Shifting a cat off a kitchen chair, he sat down and sighed. “It’s not like we’re making a difference anyway. People still let their cats have litter after litter and then dump the kittens. We haven’t made a dent in the problem.” Owen hurried over behind the chair and wrapped his arms around Marc’s neck. “We’ve made a huge difference to those animals we’ve taken care of and found good homes for. Never doubt that. And we made a difference to the feral colony. They’re not suffering diseases or parasites. And nobody out there is popping out babies anymore.” Marc patted Owen’s arm and smiled. “Thanks for the pep talk. But we still have a problem to deal with in our home. You can’t take care of all these cats. And I can only do so much to help, what with my vet practice and my duties as Animal Control Chief. I think we have to move the really unadoptable ones to the feral colony. And the first one to go is going to be Clotilda.” Owen drew in a quick breath. “But she’s one of Gideon’s. We can’t let her go.” Owen was convinced the big orange cat had personally guided some of the strays to their doorstep. Nothing Marc could say would shake that belief. “She’s not a nice cat.” He held up his hand to show the new scratches. “She got me again today.” Owen fussed over the wounds and shook his head. “Well, I admit, she does hate you ever since you did the spay surgery on her.” “Sorry to break it to you, Owen, but she hates everyone—you included. Even you can’t touch her without blood being drawn.” Owen didn’t have a response for that. Marc got up and pressed a kiss on the top of Owen’s head. “I’m sorry, but things have to change. It’s just too much for both of us. We’ll talk more about it when I get back.” Owen’s face took on that determined look Marc knew all too well. “I’m not giving up. It’s Yule tomorrow—the Winter Solstice. And with the return of the sun comes new life, new hope, and new possibilities. Things will change for the better.” Ruffling Owen’s dark hair, Marc pasted a smile on his face in an effort to lighten the mood. “I hope you’re right. Now go play with your new kittens. I have to finish packing.”