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    Father Christmas
    Father Christmas
    Father Christmas
    Ebook104 pages1 hour

    Father Christmas

    By Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    Spam the cat thought he'd seen a lot of the world in his nine months of life. After all, he was the foremost vampire hunter of Port Deception, WA. (SPAM VS THE VAMPIRE)! This was his first Christmas, however, and from what he'd heard on TV, on Christmas all was supposed to be calm, all was supposed to be bright. The deer and Renfrew the raccoon had other ideas however. In an attempt to keep Renfrew, aka "The UPS Bandit" from ruining a lot of Christmases, Spam begins a task that leads to his being the sole protection of a new mother and child, and a less-than-warm-and-fuzzy reunion with his feral father. Altogether, his first Christmas eve is a less than Silent Night. Illustrated by Karen Gillmore.

    The proceeds of this book from whatever source will be donated to the Humane Society of Jefferson County for the benefit of the animal shelter.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC
    Release dateMay 3, 2012
    ISBN9781619500273
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      Book preview

      Father Christmas - Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

      Contents

      Copyright Page

      Dedication

      1

      2

      3

      4

      5

      6

      7

      About the Authors

      About the Cover Artist/Illustrator

      Afterword

      Excerpt: Spam Vs. the Vampire

      Coming Soon: Spam and the Tour Bus of Doom

      Also by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

      Father Christmas

      by

      Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

      with K.B. Dundee

      All rights reserved

      Copyright © January 2012, Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

      Cover Art Copyright © 2012, Karen Gillmore

      Gypsy Shadow Publishing, Inc.

      Lockhart, TX

      www.gypsyshadow.com

      Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coin-cidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

      No part of this book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from the author.

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      eBook ISBN: 978-1-61950-27-3

      First eBook Edition: January, 2012

      Second eBook Edition: May, 2012

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2012933715

      Print ISBN: 978-1-61950-052-5

      Published in the United States of America

      Manufactured in the United States of America

      First Print Edition: February 2012

      Dedication

      This story is dedicated to Kerry Greenwood and Karen Gillmore, whose encouragement has kept me writing and whose friendship made the holidays happy.

      1

      ’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring; not even a mouse. Rats! While I’d been out chasing vampires and zombies, my furry housemates had hunted all the fun prey. Now my fourteen feline roomies were all asleep, our human mom Darcy was gone for the weekend leaving us on our own with just a cat-sitter coming in to feed us, and I felt restless. I was nine months old, and this was my first Christmas.

      It felt like something ought to happen. It felt like something was going to happen, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be in my boring house with my boring friends and relatives.

      On the other hand, it was snowing outside. We were having a white Christmas. Bah, humbug. Bad weather is what it is, the kind that clots white cold stuff in your paw pads. Unacceptable. I would wait until the weather humans came to their senses to go out, I had decided.

      That was before I heard the prancing and pawing of each little hoof, apparently coming from up on my roof. I sat down to think, curling my tail around my front paws, my calm pose betrayed only by a slight flick at the creamy end of my plumy appendage. There were stockings hung by the propane stove with care, but a trip down that chimney would be disastrous for anybody, since they’d just end up inside the stove and wouldn’t be able to get out. I considered waking my mother for a further explanation of the powers of Santa Claws. But then I thought that if anyone would know what was going on, it would be Rocky. I jumped onto the kitchen counter and stood against the corner cupboard. I am a very long cat, even without taking my tail into account. My front feet could just reach the top cabinet, where Rocky liked to lurk during the day. Inserting my paw beneath the door’s trim, I pushed. It smelled like vampire cat in there, but not as though the vampire cat was actually in there. Rocky was out. Well, it was night. He wouldn’t mind the snow.

      Some more scrabbling on the roof, and I suddenly thought, what if Rocky has Santa Claws and is feeding on him? He might. He was my friend, but he was definitely no respecter of age, gender, or mythological belief system.

      I bolted out my private entrance. Only Rocky and I were able to come and go through that new cat flap that had been installed for me since my last adventure. I had a chip in my neck that activated it. Rocky had my old collar containing a similar chip, the one I’d worn before I went to the vet and got tagged.

      The cold air hit me with a shock, and the snow wet my pink paw pads, though the heavy tufts of fur between them formed natural snowshoes. I was a very convenient breed of cat for this climate, actually. Maine Coon cats, or their undocumented relatives like me, were built for cold and wet and according to the Critter Channel, used to be ships’ cats on Viking vessels. I didn’t mind a nice trip around the bay on a nice day, but this snow stuff wasn’t my cup of—well, snow.

      I dashed into the snow without the benefit of any sort of vehicle, responding to the clatter, and from a safe distance, gazed back at the roof to see what was the matter. Other than snow.

      The feel of the air shifted behind me, and I glanced back to see five deer step out of the moon shadows beneath the big apple tree. Nelda, Buck, and some other deer I knew fairly well—as well as a cat can know a family of deer, anyway—stood behind me, whuffing steam from their nostrils and looking up toward the noise.

      I saw nothing special up there. Just weathered red tiles, our smokeless chimney, and snow falling on it.

      You guys weren’t just up there, were you? I asked Nelda.

      No, silly. How would deer get on your roof? she asked.

      Well, I said, You know—it’s Christmas and everything, so I just wondered…

      What’s that got to do with Christmas? Nelda asked.

      Oh, grandma, the young doe Gelda said, Don’t you know anything? Spam is under the impression that all deer are like those horned ones who pull that sled across the sky.

      What sled?

      The one that’s on half the lighted windows downtown.

      Nelda shook her head, flipping off snowflakes melting on her muzzle. Christmas is very confusing. I’ve been through several now and it never makes any sense to me at all. Why is there a sled with captive deer pulling it?

      It’s simple, Grandma, Gelda said. The sled is magic, and the deer are pulling it through the sky, following a star that will show them where there is a manger with fresh hay. There are humans involved too, but that part isn’t clear to me. The lights in the windows symbolize the star, I believe.

      Spam, that is species profiling, thinking we’d get up on your roof just because it’s Christmas. Just because we live in this wet climate doesn’t make us rain deer, dear, Buck said, snorting at his own pun. He’s hilarious sometimes. Nelda and the other deer I’ve met

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