The Best Christmas Ever

I looked forward to Dress Up Day for weeks. I planned to show off my new Christmas dress. That year’s version was black with a large flower print. I think it was what one would call “tea length.” Three quarter sleeves and a boat neck line. Black tights and flats completed the look.

I woke up early. It was the Friday before the start of Christmas vacation, the last school day of the year. The final Christmas vacation of my high school career. I carefully put on the Christmas dress ensemble, pulled my long hair back into a low ponytail and went downstairs.

My mother was in the kitchen, standing next to the radio and smoking a cigarette in her bathrobe. She was shaking her head. “No school for you today,” she said when she spotted me. “Freezing rain. School is canceled because of ice.”

Disappointment flooded my body. There would be no more Dress Up Days. I didn’t see that as part of a college curriculum. I went into the living room and turned on the television and started Christmas vacation early.

My moping soon turned to boredom. There wasn’t much on television, so I started reading a book. After some time, I couldn’t concentrate and put the book down. The freezing rain had changed to snow. I decided to go outside and feed our cats.

We lived on a farm and had “indoor” and “outdoor” cats. The outdoor cats lived in our barn and stayed outside. Tabby was our indoor cat, but she ran away four months ago. I was heartbroken, but I refused my parents’ offer of replacing her. I was a senior in high school at the time, and we adopted Tabby when I was in the fifth grade. I couldn’t just replace her.

I grabbed the bag of cat food, pulled on my winter coat over my Christmas dress and went outside, still wearing my black flats and conveniently forgetting my hat and gloves. I gingerly made my way across our back yard to the barn, calling “here kitty” as I walked so the cats would know lunch was on its way. Our cats, whether indoor or outdoor, adored me and always recognized my voice.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally made it to the barn. I pulled open the door and realized I was having an early Christmas.

Sitting there calmly on a bale of straw in the middle of the outdoor cats was Tabby. I dropped the bag of cat food and opened my mouth to say her name. I didn’t need to because she came over to me as soon as she saw me. Forgetting about my original mission, feeding the cats, I scooped up Tabby and hurried toward the house, screaming “Tabby’s home!”

Mom thought I was hurt and came outside onto the porch to see what happened. Still clutching my beloved cat, I ran up the porch steps. Mom caught sight of Tabby. She had been talking to my dad on the phone (he was at work). She quickly said, “Tabby’s home,” and hung up on him.

Mom ushered Tabby and me into the house. She took Tabby from me while I quickly took off my coat. I grabbed Tabby back, afraid to let her go. She had been gone for four months. We had a lot of cuddling time to make up.

I was still holding Tabby when I picked up the phone and called Grandma Betty. “That’s the best Christmas present anyone could have given you,” she said.

Eighteen years later, it still is.