"I hate this dump," Kathleen pouted as she glanced quickly around the room. It was awful--probably the worst home she'd been in. It was big enough--room enough for the two "real" children to each have a bedroom of their own, plus one for her. The father had a study and the mother had a sewing room, although she never touched the sewing machine once in the month that Kathleen had been there.

But for all the room, it was a dump. For one thing, the television didn't work. It had broken last summer and they'd made some sort of a crazy pact that they'd see how long they could go without getting it fixed and if they managed for a year they'd go camping for two weeks in the Adirondacks. "And catch fleas from the bears," Kathleen snorted.

She sat down on the braided rug in front of the fireplace. It wasn't even a fireplace. It was a stupid gas jet behind a pile of fake logs. She turned the handle and it sputtered to life. On either side of the mantle were two big windows and she idly looked out the one on the left. The one on the right was covered by a huge Christmas tree with dough ornaments and garlands of popcorn and cranberries. They'd spent one whole Saturday afternoon making those garlands. It was so stupid.

Snow had begun to fall, thick and white and fluffy. It was Christmas Eve and it was beginning to look like a Christmas card outside. "I hate Christmas cards," Kathleen grumbled. "I hate Christmas. I hate these people."

The phone rang. "Kathleen?" The Mother said. "Honey, I hate to tell you this, but the tire blew out on the van on the way back from church and Dad's having a little trouble changing it, so we'll have to wait for the tow truck to come. I'm so sorry. You doin' alright?"

Kathleen smirked into the phone. "Oh, just peachy," she said, imitating The Mother's syrupy tone. It was hard to tell with some of these people. Either the woman was a complete sap or a bad actress. And what was this "Dad" and "Mom" stuff? They weren't her mom and dad.

"Well, we'll be home as soon as we can. Get something to eat, and..honey? Don't worry."

"Like I would," Kathleen thought. But she knew better than to say what she was thinking. She'd learned that long ago. "See you," she said instead and hung up the phone. Her voice was crisp. She liked to use that voice. No one could ever say that she'd been disrespectful because the words she said were fine. Still, at the same time, she managed to show them exactly what she thought of them. She looked up at the grandfather clock in the corner. It was tall and old, with a large pendulum that hung down in a glass case and a smiling moon in the clock face. It ticked softly, incessently.

This would be a good time to play her CDs--the ones the last family had given her--or sort of gave her--full blast, but these people didn't even have a CD player. They were totally stone-age.

She sat back down on the rug and leaned against the big orange chair. It was an awful color. These people didn't have much sense when it came to furnishings.

She yawned. They were so lame. Their big grey cat with a white bib came across the rug and sat down, looking at her intently with large golden eyes. Then it sank onto the carpet, crossed its paws in front of it and closed its eery eyes.

The wind had picked up outside and the snow was swirling around the street light. Kathleen pulled the afghan off the chair and wrapped it around herself.

"I hate this dump," she repeated.

"Why?" a voice asked.

Kathleen sat up with a start. "Who's there?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice from sounding frightened.

"Just me," the voice came from below, close to the carpet. Kathleen turned her head slowly. The cat had sat up again and was staring her in the face.

"Who said that?" Kathleen insisted.

"Moi." The matter-of-fact voice came from the cat.

In an instant, Kathleen's fear was gone, replaced by a sense of disbelief. She laughed lightly. "This isn't happening, and you aren't talking." She shrugged and turned away.

"You're absolutely right," the cat laughed. "It isn't happening and I'm not talking. So. Now that we've established that, tell me, my dear, what are you doing here?"

"What?" Kathleen turned back slowly. "What am I doing here?"

"Yes. In my home. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I got put here. Believe me, it wasn't my choice."

"Where would you rather be?"

"Oh, just about anywhere else."

"Where you were before?"

Kathleen bit her lip, remembering how wonderful the last family had seemed at the beginning and how, after about two years, things had gotten so terribly bad. They blamed her, of course, just like the family before and the family before that.

"No," she said sharply. She hesitated. "Why are you talking to me?"

"No one else is home, my dear." The cat yawned and stretched. "Besides, it's Christmas Eve."

"So?"

"So, on Christmas Eve the animals talk. Didn't you know that?"

"Oh, please."

"Well," the cat seemed to shrug. "Am I talking?"

"No. I just think you are."

"Ugh. You moderns. Things used to be so much simpler. But back to you. u. Whoo, just a minute." She turned her head sharply and licked her grey fur from her shoulder to her elbow on her front leg, ending with a great flourish to the paw--her eyes squeezed shut in concentration. "There. Sorry. Happens every so often. You were saying?"

"No."

"Oh, I was. Here's the deal, Kathleen. Once a year, animals can talk to people. And it would do the people a lot of good to listen. But, there's something else. I have the power to grant you a wish."

"Oh?"

"One. So you have to choose wisely and since there's no one else to consult about it at the moment, you should probably discuss it with me before you finalize your answer."

Kathleen sat back and wrapped her arms around her knees. "Anything?"

"Anything."

There were so many things to wish for--stuff. More stuff.

"Don't forget," the cat purred, "That you will only get one chance in life to make a wish like this. Choose wisely."

Kathleen shoulders dropped. The fact was, that stuff wasn't going to do her any good. At least not for a long time. What would she do with even the greatest amount of wealth? She would still be stuck in these stupid homes until she was eighteen. What did she want? To see her parents again? What for, she thought quickly. And yet, there was something missing. Something that she had been missing in all the homes she had been in. Something that she hadn't felt since she was very young, before her mother got so sick and started this whole mess.

She sat silently, while the cat purred rhythmically. "By the way," the cat said suddenly. "My name is Grimalkin. You wouldn't mind calling me that would you? You've worn out Bug-Ugly." Kathleen started. There was a little tease in the cat's voice, with an edge to it. Alright, she had called the cat Bug-Ugly, but never where the family could hear. But then the cat heard it for herself.

Kathleen sensed a deep blush coming on. "Oops," she muttered. Grimalkin rose majestically and walked to the window, jumping up into the windowsill with only the lightest touch on the intervening table. "I didn't mean to...you know," Kathleen began.

"I know you didn't. But remember, the nasty and mean things we do in secret can come back to haunt us. Someone knows. If nothing else, you know when you've done wrong. Be careful."

Kathleen nodded. "There's a lot of snow out there," Grimalkin said cheerfully, shaking her belled collar. "When will the people be home?"

"I don't know. They had a blow-out in the van."

"Too bad. Well, they'll be fine. Come now, dear. Are you thinking? Think back. What's the one thing you've wanted more than anything else since you were a little child."

Kathleen sat silent for a second and then tears sprang to her eyes.

"Oops," Grimalkin jumped down from the windowsill and crossed the floor quickly to where Kathleen was sitting. She rubbed her thick, grey body against Kathleen's legs. "What's this? What do you need, my dear? Tell me."

"I want..." Kathleen hesitated. She'd never quite been able to say this--ever. Not in all the counselling and therapy sessions--how she hated them! Not to any of the stupid families. Not to anyone. Her eyes felt hot and her nose tingled. She lowered her voice to a whisper.

"Go on..."

"I want people to like me. No, to love me. I want people to love me."

"Ooh, that is impressive," Grimalkin quickly licked her white bib and then slid into a Sphinx position. "Pretty lonely, eh?"

Kathleen nodded, suddenly aware of the misery welling up inside her.

"Well. Funny you should mention that. When I was a young cat, I had the same trouble. I was really quite happy as a little kitten, but I was given away, separated from my litter and the mother who adored me. The people who got me had a little boy who liked nothing more than to be cruel to me. Never anything so bad that it would hurt me, but cruel nevertheless, because I didn't understand what he was doing and it was very frightening. There are many things children do to pets thinking that the animals are no more important than their toys. Why, I remember one day, he put me under a laundry basket and then let the outside dog in the house and it sniffed and worried me and pushed the basket around while the little oaf and his nasty friends laughed and laughed. Oh!" Grimalkin lowered her eyes to the carpet and shuddered. "How I loathed them. Why didn't the parents do something?"

Kathleen shook her head. She'd never thought about it before. There was a long pause. "I'm sorry," she said, genuinely moved.

"Well, thank you. The problem is that the parents never really bothered to see what their darling was doing to me. What they saw was that I became terribly afraid. I was angry, too. I thought they were worthless. Every time the boy came in the room I cringed, and when he tried to pick me up, I'd scratch, and they'd yell at me and finally, I began to scratch them." She paused, licked her paw and sighed heavily.

"That's when they sent me to the pound. I looked down that long row of cat cages, stacked four high, and full of unwanted, unloved cats, many of whom had been put there through the fault and neglect of unfeeling humans, and not through any defect of their own. I was fortunate in that I was quite beautiful and still quite young, and was taken in by another family. They weren't terrific either and took me back to the pound. I was older this time, and I knew what the end of the story was for cats who kept going back to the pound. I didn't want that to happen.

"Besides, I wanted, just like you, to be loved. So when these people came into the pound looking for a cat, I made up my mind to be the cat they wanted. I put on my best behavior, even though I was still mad at the world. After all, they hadn't done anything bad. I swallowed my fear and pressed my shoulder against the woman's hand and purred loudly. When they took me into the little visiting room, I wove my way between all of their legs. I was endearing, pleasant. I smiled and purred. All I wanted was to get out of there. I didn't like these people. I didn't like any people. But they took me home. I promptly found a bed and hid under it and didn't come out for days. I may have been smart enough to get out of the pound, but I was still in trouble. One night, I heard the woman say, 'I'm so worried about that cat. She obviously doesn't like it here. There must be something the matter with her. Perhaps we should take her back to the pound." I don't think she really knew what she was saying, but I did. Later that night, still terrified, I crept out from under the bed. I explored the house. It really wasn't bad. In the morning, when the people got up for breakfast, I walked into the kitchen, hugging the walls, and tried to be pleasant. The little boy started to reach down, but the mother stopped him and told him to wait. Then she came over and got down on her knees and talked with me, face to face. I've never looked back. Slowly I got to know each of the children and the Father and to put aside my anger, which was really just fear of getting hurt again. No things aren't perfect here. But they are good people and they mean well. Their children are well-behaved and the whole family loves me. Do you know what I'm telling you?"

Kathleen shook her head.

"Well, my dear, everyone in the world isn't going to love you. But it is important to be loved by those close to you. The way to be loved is to put aside the fear and the anger. You have reason to be angry, but you must not let it stand in the way of having good relations with good people. Say something nice whenever you have the chance."

Kathleen stroked the cat's bony head. "That's the answer?"

"That's the answer."

"Does that mean my wish is granted?"

"Well, it's a little like getting a car. You can get the car, but if you don't start it and drive it, it's of no value. I've given you the car and the key, you need to turn the key and drive." Grimalkin yawned a luxuriously long yawn and curled up. In moments, she was snoring.

"Well, that's wonderful," thought Kathleen. "Except these people make me work. I wish there was something I could do about it. Day after day, same things--wash the dishes, fold the laundry, feed the cat..." She clipped off her words, checking to be sure Grimalkin was really asleep. She didn't mind Grimalkin having food, of course, but she hated opening the cans--the pulls would come off when she jerked them, and the slimy gravy oozed out of the top, and it stank like, well, like cat food.

The ticking of the clock grew louder, and she looked up at it. The moon face seemed to be looking down at her. "I know just how you feel," said a voice.

"That's not you, is it, clock?" She said hesitantly.

"Why, yes. You may call me Grandfather."

"Hmmm," she laughed lightly. "Does this happen often around here?"

"Well, no," said the clock. "But it's Christmas Eve."

"The animals are supposed to talk, not the clocks," she cautioned.

"Oh, well. Details. Listen, I heard you speaking your wish." the second hand swept up over the twelve and began its descent.

"What wish?"

"That you didn't have to do tedious work around the house."

"Well, who would?"

"I certainly didn't," the clock began.

"Didn't what?"

"Want to do tedious work. When I was a young clock, things were very different. Women wore long dresses that swept the floor, and carried fans on ribbons at their wrists. Men were much shorter, and went outside to smoke cigars. I could see them from the window. At first it was fun to stand in the corner and tick-tock. There was a certain excitement in the hour when I could boom, and even in the half-hour when I would chime. It seemed like it would be exciting forever. When I came from the factory, and they set me in my first corner, everyone paid attention to me. But years passed, and finally only the man paid attention, and then the maid. I grew weary of tick-tocking all day and all night. I still enjoyed booming out the hours, especially twelve, but the rest was awful."

"I'm sure," Kathleen interjected.

"Well, finally, I realized that this wasn't good for me. I was beginning to dread each day, dread the repetitive work I had to do and then suddenly, I had a thought. I was going to have to do this work for the rest of my days. To wish to do otherwise would be to wish not to be. I had to find a way to make my peace with my tedious work."

"So what did you do?"

"Oh, a variety of things. I made a game out of it. I timed things. How many ticks would it take for the maid to bring the tea tray from the door of the parlor to the tea table. How many it would take for her to take the empty tray back. How many times in a day each member of the family would come into the parlor and look at me. I studied whether there was a pattern to the times that the maid wound me. You see, eventually, years passed, and I realized what I treasure I had become just by patiently minding my business."

Kathleen laughed lightly. "Oh, that's a good story, but you had no choice. You couldn't very well go anywhere else."

"All the more reason to accept where I was and what I was doing. My only choice, other than acceptance, was to break down, and I didn't want to do that. So I realized it was better to do what I had to do cheerfully and willingly."

"And the lesson is..."

"Oh, Miss Kathleen, you must find a way to do your work--your housework and your schoolwork, in the same way." His hands swept graciously around his face and he fell back into his gentle tick-tock.

Kathleen shook her hair back. It had certainly been an unusual evening but she was hungry for more. She looked up at the parakeet sitting in its bamboo cage on the long table. "And you?" She leaned over softly and spoke gently to the little yellow bird. "Do you have some words of wisdom that I can learn to make my life happier?"

There was a pause, and Kathleen smiled gently at the bird. She could already feel the goodness working. The bird spoke. "No, of course not. I'm just a parakeet."

Kathleen's shoulder's slumped. "Oh, just kidding!" The bird said. "You know I sense that sometimes you're unhappy and you think thoughts that aren't pleasant and that makes you feel even worse. It's almost one and the animals can only speak in the hour between 12 and 1, so I must be quicker than the others. Sing a song. A nice song. Not like the ones on your CDs, but something with a happy message--something where the words are like a balm to your soul. Then sing it when you get sad, or you find yourself thinking uncomfortable thoughts. Sing it to yourself, inside, or sing it out loud. It'll help. It helps me. Kathleen, if you'll listen to things we've said tonight, you'll have few troubles in your life." Then, the little bird was silent.

Kathleen sat back down on the hearth rug. "I will," she said. "Thank you." She put her arm around the sleeping Grimalkin and soon was laying beside the big, warm cat. The snow was still swirling outside and the clock was ticking reassuringly from his corner. Kathleen didn't notice the headlights as they swept across the inside wall of the living room as the van pulled in the driveway, or hear the doors close. She didn't hear the key turn in the lock or the sound of the people coming in.

The Mother noticed her right away and put down her packages. "Oh, here she is, poor thing," the mother whispered. "She's fallen asleep in front of the fireplace. She turned to her husband. "Should I wake her to put her to bed?"

"No, let her sleep," he said softly, carrying his own child in his arms. The mother took the afghan and laid it over her. "John," she said softly. "Look. She's smiling. It's the first time I've seen her smile since she came here. She must have had a wonderful dream."

In the morning, when the sky was beginning to turn light, the children ran down the stairs to the Christmas tree. There were presents under the tree for all of them, even for Kathleen. She woke up, not sure of what to do. It had been so long since she'd felt like she was at home for Christmas. Grimalkin stood up on her long legs and stretcheed. Then, as if to say, 'Remember?' she rubbed against Kathleen's legs. Kathleen smiled. She smiled at the children and helped them find their presents. She smiled when The Mother gave her a wrapped box. Kathleen looked at the package. The children had made the wrapping paper with cut potato and a stamp pad. It had been a messy day. She remembered Grimalkin's words, "Say something nice." Suddenly, Kathleen laughed. "It's a beautiful package," she said. The Mother's face lit up.

"Thank you," she smiled. There was genuine warmth in her eyes, and Kathleen saw it. It may have been there before, but she hadn't noticed.

"I'm glad you like it."

Suddenly Kathleen realized, no matter what was in the box, she'd already gotten the best Christmas gift of all--her wishes had been granted. She looked at the cat, at the clock and the bird in the ornate bamboo cage, and she knew, she would never have a better Christmas than this one.