Christmas Eve: snow all around. A time for families to be together, to exchange gifts, to rejoice in the wonder of life.

Picture the scene in one particular house: a woman and a man gaze lovingly on a small, special bundle of life asleep in a basket in the corner. And they smile at the basket itself, surrounded as it is by kind neighbours’ gifts. The man takes the woman’s hand, and she looks at him contentedly.

Then he says to her, “Alice, you don’t think by any chance that we might be spoiling this cat a little, do you?”

At least the bus company isn’t practicing ageism. But, whew, that elderly bus driver was really something. First, he can’t see too well. I think he missed a few stops when he didn’t see any people there waiting, making us rush and scream to get him to stop. Kind of hearing impaired, so people shouting from the back, reminding him about their stop, was dismissed as “talking on their cellphones”. Signs of dementia as evinced when he almost forgot to let that poor disabled woman off. However, he may have given me too much change - so I’m not complaining.

Alice’s cat couldn’t believe his eyes. Curiosity had taken him into a cupboard where the woman who claimed to adore him like no other had stored his present. In recent years, the cat had tried to make Alice’s task at Christmas and birthdays easier – he’d set up an Amazon Wish List, and he’d sent hints to Danny and even to the Johnny-come-lately Carlos currently insinuating himself into their lives. To no avail. How could she?

And there was no gift receipt – he couldn’t exchange it.

The smug-looking feline model pictured on the box made it clear what it contained: pyjamas.

Trish looked across the amber waves; Iggy’s pal, Jody, commanded the huge machine, which jerked spasmodically, roaring under his awkward touch.

"So, that's where you got the brains? I hope he gave some hash browns and scrambled goose eggs to go with it, Ig."

Jody wheeled around and headed back toward the house. The noise was deafening. The bike spewed dirt and gravel in the wake of its approach. Her head filled with the mad roar, Trish spied the empty doll-like head, bobbling crazily from the handlebars. A black mane streamed behind it, neck rimmed in ghastly red.

Trish hadn’t heard from Iggy in three days. They’d had blowups before but nothing like this. Maybe he was off on a bender or he could have come down with that weird flu thing that was making everyone act crazy. His phone went straight to voicemail. She decided to be the bigger person and go and apologize in person, maybe pick up some Thai on the way over. Just then she heard a faint scratching at the door.

“Ig, where have you been? You look like death and what happened to your clothes?”

“Mmmm, brains.”

"I really like your brother," George's wife said.
"Well, I guess even tough guys have something to recommend them." said George.
"I think Uncle Harry's kinda' sweet, Dad," said little Fay.
"I wouldn't say 'sweet' exactly," said her brother, "but he's OK, I guess."
"Well, in any case, dinner's over," said George's wife. "Kids, clear the table, rinse the dishes and put them into the dishwasher. George, help me get the rest of Harry back into the freezer."

(Gordon and Emma, I really did think of this BEFORE I saw either of your contributions. Maybe it's the season or something in the water. In either case, please don't ask me to Christmas dinner.)

“Is this human organic Mabel,” a voice piped up. “It's just that I can't eat anything that isn't organic.”

Everyone sighed; no-one liked a fussy meerkat. His irritating ways were guaranteed to kill a party stone dead.

“It is indeed,” Mabel kicked the (non-organic) label under the table. “I insist that I'll only eat humans who have not touched McDonalds, KFC or Domino's Pizza.”

“Difficult to find aren't they – these organic humans?” sniffed the meerkat. “you certainly have to source them outside the UK or the States.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, Mabel especially seeing as her human had come from Glasgow.

“Well this looks a nice spread,” Diane the turkey said to the pig. “You must have worked long and hard all day to prepare this meal, Mabel.”

“But so worth it to have friends round for Christmas,” Mabel replied.

“Where did you get this lovely human?” Sam the salmon asked. “A local butcher?”

“Yes, but I went for free-range this year,” Mabel said. “Incidentally, Sam, feel free to smoke if you wish.”

“Thanks, I will. These roast potatoes are lovely,” Sam added. “People-fat?”

“Of course. Do have some sprouts.”

“Thanks, Mabel, I will. I SO love a traditional Christmas dinner.”

The boy stared at the gorilla in the zoo cage, and the gorilla stared back. “I’ll call you Marvin. I’m Thomas,” the boy said. Thomas smiled, and Marvin smiled back. Thomas put his hand to the glass enclosing the cage, and Marvin lifted his hand to meet the boy’s. Thomas put his hands in his ears and stuck out his tongue, trying for some humor, and remarkably, Marvin did the same. Thomas couldn’t stop giggling, and his mom said, “Better grab the camera. Time for a photo with the new family member.”

In honour of the new arrival in the "Life of Alice" saga...


Danny stood outside the Central Hotel, wondering what was happening inside. For months he’d listened to Alice’s concerns about her new boss and his wandering hands. Now Danny could see the jackal-like features of Carlos, the maître d’hôtel, greeting her at the front door. Would a cat-lover like Alice be safe there?

Jealousy raged within him.

Their cars were parked outside - Danny knew the numbers by heart. Surely they wouldn’t drive home?

Well, he thought, it’s Christmas. Writing out cards “Merry Christmas from Danny”, he placed one on the windscreen of each car. Each card contained a parking ticket.

Horace could smell his quarry. He wriggled deeper into the hedge near the freshly planted field and waited... Waited.

There was a sound close-by. Had one of the other hunters seen his pheasants?

With barely a twitch of his head he glanced right, then left. No. The cowards had all given up, put off by a little rain.

He shifted his gaze back to the field, squeezed himself close to the first bird and pounced, claws stretched like a lion, ears back like a hyena, the prince of cats.

I’m gonna make a fortune on this, Henrietta.

Oh please, not again!

Listen to this. Picture it. It’s a combination back massage recliner, and a commode. (beat) What’s the matter? It’s for old ladies. --

It’ll never get off the ground.

Wait. You haven’t heard the best part.

My eyes flew open. I searched the darkness frantically, knowing something was terribly wrong, but what? From outside came the faintest of sounds. Fearfully, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed as quietly as possible and stood up. My heart pounded. I dared not turn on the light, but the room was utterly dark. Too dark. I felt my way blindly to the window. Slowly, cautiously, I parted the curtains, and in that instant, my husband switched on the bedside lamp. The pool of darkness shrouding the window instantly contracted, revealing the oval of amber surrounding it.

My eyes flew open. I searched the darkness frantically, knowing something was terribly wrong, but what? From outside came the faintest of sounds. Fearfully, I swung my feet over the edge of the bed as quietly as possible and stood up. My heart pounded. I dared not turn on the light, but the room was utterly dark. Too dark. I felt my way blindly to the window. Slowly, cautiously, I parted the curtains, and in that instant, my husband switched on the bedside lamp. The pool of darkness shrouding the window instantly contracted, revealing the oval of amber surrounding it.

I'm new, too! Here's the beginning of a sort-of story:

The quaint lighthouse was in disrepair, having long been out of use. But the man who occupied the lower quarters was still enchanted with the view overlooking the magnificent rocks below and the deep blue waves crashing on the rocks. He wondered often why this lighthouse had not been maintained, as it represented a grievous danger to passing ships. Still, it had been donated to him as part of his retirement when the town mayor decided to abandon any further lighthouse activities.

The man lived alone, content in his solitude. His wife had long since passed on. Now, he enjoyed tending to his rose bushes, and raising his geese and rabbits. He needed for nothing. He had learned to grow the occasional greens and some hardy fruit on the rocky ledge overlying the sea, and regularly harvested large goose eggs or butchered a hapless rabbit. No matter; they multiplied rapidly.

Carlos had been watching the woman. She seemed to seethe with unexpressed fury, and he couldn’t blame her. That obnoxious slob had been trying to maul her all evening. Still, he could afford to let her spoil the party. Then he saw her furtive move.

This would not do. He grabbed a tray of glasses and stumbled into her. Copiously apologizing, he helped her up, promised to have her dress cleaned, saw that she had a drink.

That had been a close call, he thought, pocketing the stiletto. Bad publicity could be fatal to his promising new catering business.

Sitting in the Central Hotel, Alice wondered why she’d come to the staff Christmas lunch - smoked salmon, turkey and trimmings, Christmas pudding. She hadn’t worked out the order they’d come in yet.

The disco already in full flow, a slightly drunk-looking man with bad breath and a lascivious smile dragged her onto the dance floor: her boss. He placed his hands around her back – well, not really her back.

Pulling him close, Alice suddenly remembered why she’d come. Slipping the stiletto from her sleeve into her hand, she thought, “Nobody will suspect me. They think I only use guns...”

The old dog limped to the fireplace and slowly and painfully lay down. He sighed and closed his eyes, his breathing getting shallower and more uneven. He was so tired; he just wanted to sleep.

However, it seemed that, almost as soon as he found sleep, two hands attached the leash to his collar.

He quickly looked up. Then he saw it! The round thing! His favorite toy!

He jumped up and bounded for the open front door, running outside into the warm sun.

Once they reached the field, the leash was removed, and the dog ran around in circles. He couldn’t wait to play. His eyes sparkled, and he barked and barked, waiting for the round thing to fly once more.

Finally, he stopped running and leaned back on his haunches, waiting to spring into action. His heart pounded with excitement, anticipating the chase.

Then it happened!

God threw the frisbee.

I handed the grocery store clerk my winning lottery ticket, barely containing my excitement at the prospect of being $40 million richer.

He examined it carefully, and handed it back. “I’m sorry, sir. That card’s no good,” he said. “You see, the colors aren’t exactly right … and the card itself isn’t quite thick enough.”

“But my girlfriend gave it to me this morning. It’s got today’s date.”

He smiled. “Which is…?”

“April first – oh.”

I could imagine her, sitting poolside, enjoying a margarita. She loves my strawberry margaritas. I smiled and asked, “Where do you keep your Tabasco sauce?”

Santa was unable to deliver parcels, and this time it wasn’t a fairy story, it was for real. For the first time ever, he had to call the emergency rescue services.

“It’s Blitzen,” he explained. “He’s gone lame – I think it’s his long-standing arthritis. Whatever, the sleigh’s pulling to the left badly and we’re literally going round in circles. We can’t get south of Helsinki.”

Eventually, the rescue service turned up, looking suspiciously like a polar bear. In no time, it had solved the problem by eating both Blitzen AND Donner.

The sleigh was going straight again, Santa was happy.

Danny survived the Christmas karaoke débâcle (just) and Alice had emerged from her 700 plus Christmas card writing (relatively) unscathed. Now a fresh challenge awaited...

“I have decided that you two will host the Christmas feast”, their Trappist cat decreed.

Danny nodded enthusiastically; Alice less so. It turned out that Danny's family of three required simply roast turkey, 10 roast potatoes (each) and a vat load of booze. Alice counted a raw food vegan, a nut allergy sufferer, a strict follower of the Paleo diet and a nephew who only ate jam sandwiches amongst her relatives.

I was rudely awakened by the bleeping sound of my mobile phone. My brain still fuzzy from sleep, I slowly stretched my hand to silence it whilst wondering who could be texting me at this ungodly hour. It was before 6.30am. God knows I don’t rise to consciousness a minute before 6:30am.

“Good morning luscious.”

Hhmm… the morning greeting every girl needs.

I continued reading, “Just woke and was thinking about you X.”

How sweet - except the text was a year late.

I texted back, “Auto response: the girl you’re looking for is now dating someone else.”

Her heart jumped as she heard her father's truck droning closer on the driveway. Without panicking, she stacked the magazines in the drawer as she'd found them. In the living room the Ice cubes in her unfinished coke had melted. She sipped the watery pop, trying to keep her heart from beating into her throat as her father stumbled up the steps. She smelled his breath across the room. He stared at her fine legs, the bleached bangs, the sullen mouth. He noticed the blue make-up on her eyelids. "It was time she got a job," he thought.

I blush to admit that this is somewhat autobiographical:

Suzanne hated the cold. Ice was beautiful, she admitted, when it glazed branches and the sun shone through. But she hated being bundled up in heavy clothes. She hated shivering. She hated being confined indoors, unable to get out and walk or work in the garden.

That’s why she was so glad she had discovered her new sport. Suzanne had never really enjoyed any sport. But this – this was fun and it kept her fit. It challenged both her body and her mind.

Oops! She was almost late for her lesson.

She grabbed her ice skates and ran.

Ford Mercury Park Lane. Finally Dad had bought a car like everybody’s in the parking lot. Long, white, only two years old - and a convertible too. In the 70’s we moved to Israel whose narrow lanes weren’t quite suitable to the wide berth we needed. But Dad looked at it as self-promotion for potential clients. Once picking me up at university, greeters came to welcome the expected “dignitary”.
Driving by people would rave, commenting “it’s a ship” or “are you selling it?” I still wished we had a new, small car like all my friends - but with an automatic shift.