Meowy Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal by Gemma Thorne

Author:Gemma Thorne [Thorne, Gemma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-10T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

It may have even meowed.

“Why are you holding it like that?” Gramma Jude asked. “It’s not a hot potato, Journi Renee.”

“I’m not holding it,” Journi replied, annoyed. “It’s sitting on my lap.”

Indeed, the small feline had scampered over the seat without invitation and planted itself on her lap, staring at the passing night sky with wide, golden eyes. Currently, she had her fingerless-gloved hands braced on either side of it to keep it from rocking back and forth, but she was definitely not holding it.

“Pick it up,” Gramma Jude instructed. “It’s probably scared out of its wits!”

Journi scowled at her. “I don’t do cats.”

“It’s not a cat,” Gramma Jude pointed out, holding tight to the reins as the sleigh circled over the topiary strolling garden next to the mall. “It’s a kitten.”

“A kitten is a cat.”

“If you say so.”

Journi glanced down at the cat in question, and it stared up at her, the wind toying with its whiskers and ruffling its fur. No more than a half-pint, the thing was mostly orange with white patches here and there. It had a pink nose, and a red-satin ribbon embroidered with the words Hi, my name is Steve! was tied around its neck.

“What kind of cat is named Steve?” Journi demanded.

“Gotcha!” Gramma Jude cried, leaning forward eagerly as the sleigh descended on the topiary garden, her hawk-like gaze tracking Kris Kringle’s route as he ran through the paths formed by the artistically sculpted shrubbery, his cape flapping behind him.

Journi instinctively grabbed the kitten when the sleigh listed sharply to the left.

The vision overtook her the moment her fingertips touched the beast’s fur.

Unlike the visions she willingly initiated as part of her work as a soothsayer, the unexpected ones were like sensory whiplash. In a blink, the rushing wind, the city lights, and jingling sleigh bells were gone. Instead of hurtling through the sky, she was suddenly stationary, and her head spun wildly even though her surroundings weren’t technically real.

At least, not yet.

When the urge to vomit faded, she realized she was standing on the stoop of a brownstone. Somewhere on the north side of Columbus if the shininess of the cars parked along the curb and the upscale Christmas décor were indicators. There wasn’t an inflatable Frosty in sight. It was still nighttime, though she couldn’t be sure of which night in particular. It could be present day or five years from now. Glancing around, she searched for whatever it was she was meant to see.

Every window up and down the street twinkled with elegant, white lights, and snow had just begun falling, drifting lazily down to land on the pine-bough-wrapped lampposts. Occasionally, a vehicle would pass, and she watched a man and woman stroll by bundled in their winter wool, their elbows entwined. They never glanced her way. Not that she expected them to. After all, she wasn’t really there.

Turning back to the brownstone, she climbed its steps, eyeing the extravagant wreaths attached to its black double doors. To the

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