After we had admired the beautiful tree for a while, Guy took down a bag for each of us. The muslin of which the bags were made was so thin that you could see the popcorn that was inside. The bags were tied at each end with pretty colored ribbon, which made them look just like little white sausages; but how to get them open and get at the popcorn was what puzzled me. But cats know just as well as people, that “in union there is strength,” so all three of us took hold of the same bag. It was tied with blue ribbon and belonged to Budge. For a while we played with the bag, each one pulling in a different direction, and in a few minutes the whole floor was littered over with popcorn. For a while we were very busy helping ourselves, and I am sorry to say that each growled at the others while eating, for fear they would get the most: it tasted so good.
While we were busy eating the popcorn, Dennis came in, wearing a beautiful new silver collar with his name and address: “Dennis Hilton, 129 Poplar Avenue,” inscribed upon it, and a yellow satin bow in the ring. Of course, we invited him to have some popcorn. But Dennis was more interested in our new pads and basket than in the popcorn, and after smelling of them all very cautiously, he stretched himself out on my pad at full length and took a nap. I was so glad he was too big for the basket.
I wondered all the morning why Jack didn’t come over, but in the afternoon we met accidentally on the fence ledge, and he told me that they had also had a Christmas over at his place; and he invited me to go over with him.
He said that on the night before when he was out in his poplar tree, he saw an old gray-haired man with a long, white beard, and wearing a furry coat and cap, drive down our street in a chariot drawn by reindeer, and that the chariot was loaded with the most beautiful toys and bonbons, such as children like, and that he stopped at every house in the neighborhood except Eddie’s.
Said I: “May be that’s Santa Claus, that we hear so much about; but they say he always travels in a sleigh.”
Jack said he guessed not, unless there was snow on the ground.
By this time we had reached his yard, and he invited me in and showed me his presents. He had a beautiful new brass collar with “Jack Vandervere, 111 Poplar Avenue” inscribed upon it. He also had a box of sardines which tasted perfectly delicious.
Mistress sometimes gives us salmon and it is very good; but I like sardines better because they are whole, and it is such fun to toss them around and play “catch” with them. If they would only wiggle a little, it would be still more fun to play with them.
Jack had many other presents, but the one that interested me most of all was a little box that sings when you pull a string. His mistress pulled the string for me, and the very first song that came out was one I have heard mistress sing, about an Owl and a Pussy Cat that went to sea and got married. Another song that came out of the box was “My Pussy has gone from her Basket.” It seemed to be gotten up on purpose for pussies. Perhaps if I am a real good cat, the little old man will bring me a song box some time. Next Christmas eve I shall watch for him from my poplar tree.
While I was admiring Jack’s presents and listening to the lovely music, in came Willie Cotton, carrying in his arms a beautiful jet black kitten with amber eyes and a white “breastpin.” It had a yellow ribbon around its neck, to which was fastened a note, as follows