by William Seymour
Chaff scurried over the floor. He hated to scurry. Cats aren’t supposed to scurry. They saunter. They sashay. They want you to think that they are not even aware of your presence in the room, but if you make a move toward them, or if you try to cage them, they move quickly. They scurry.
This wasn’t the first time today that he had had to scurry. There were people everywhere it seemed, at all hours. Coming and going. Not just here in the inn, but in the street, in the alley. Bethlehem was full of people. Although he was curious as to why, it was not that important to Chaff. Chaff mused, “I must find a place to sun.” Perched on the open window sill was safe enough. From here he could see them all. Families. Men, women. Children, delighted as if in a holiday, minding their parents--”Sit here, children.” “Yes, daddy. Yes, daddy.”-- then as Daddy went to see about a room, darting mischievously into the crowd. Chaff purred.
He could see the street as well. They were still coming. “I’m sorry,” said his master, the innkeeper. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “We are now full. Have been since noon.” He had taken to the stump by the gate since so many were inquiring.
“The sun is not enough,” Chaff decided. “I must stretch and sun.” There was almost nowhere safe. He looked again, inside and out. Across and down the street. More people than he had ever seen. He just wanted to sun and stretch out, and stay out of the way. “ ‘Chaff is never underfoot.’” he remembered hearing the innkeeper say. He was proud that he was never in the way. “Give nothing to the humans, but never get in the way,” mother had taught him.
Not a split moment passed since the thought occurred to him--the stable--and his lithe body was slinking to the walk, along the fencepost, through the gap in the hedge, around the corner--oops! Humans. Scurry to the left, spring to the cart wheel, the bed of the cart and over to the ledge of the stable window. He saw a patch of light spread like a quilt on the hay bail. “Here I come,” he purred.
Before he could get there, the light was interrupted. A man, a woman and a donkey moved to stand right in the wrong place. From the hay bail, Chaff could almost here them talking. The noise of the street was incessant, and not far away. The woman was on the donkey, shifting uncomfortably. The man helped her down, they turned and moved toward Chaff. Time to scurry again--“Humans everywhere! Aarggh!” Two and a half bounds across the stable floor and he was in the manger, the feeding trough. There was still hay in it. Someone must have borrowed master’s donkey before he could finish eating. Chaff circled and circled, and moved some of the hay with his paw, digging, patting, then stre-e-e-tched out on the hay. There wasn’t a patch of light, but it was surprisingly comfortable.
Purrrrr. He squinted open one eye and saw the woman on his bail of hay in his sunbeam. The man was gone. He surmised that the man was searching for an inn with a room. If cats could speak human talk, Chaff could have save the man some searching. “No rooms anywhere,” he would say.
* * * *
“Oh, my Lord!” A shrill voice cut through Chaff’s nap in the manger. His furry head bobbed up to peer over the edge. The woman was on her knees beside the hay bail. She clung to the post--no, she leaned on the post with balled up fists--no, she pounded the post. “Oh, Joseph!”
The man was still missing, the patch of light was gone. Inside the stable it was very dusk, outside a little brighter. The donkey tethered to the post near the woman shifted uncomfortably. He seemed to be unsure of what was happening to his master’s wife. But Chaff knew from experience what was going on. The innkeeper had delivered his share of human kittens. If only the woman could speak with the innkeeper.
Then Chaff remembered. “No more rooms.” Now Chaff was uncomfortable. He stood and pawed around on the manger in little circles--right, then left. If he could only get his master to--The voice of men approaching. One voice he recognized was the master.
“If we can make you comfortable out here, yes. I’m sorry. It’s the best I can do. I’ve had to turn everyone else away.”
“Mary!” said the other man when he saw the woman kneeling. The men flashed around the donkey to her side and gently lifted her to the hay bail. She was worried looking, and breathing and sighing deeply as he had heard the other human women who were about to bare human kittens. The men were now between Chaff and Mary. He could not see, but he did not need to see. He had seen many kittens born.
The tiny mew of the human child was tender. It seemed out of place in here. The donkey brayed. The chickens had been silent, but now were clucking. For a moment, the din of the street was still. Doves gurgled in the rafters.
The men laughed and embraced. “Hallelujah!” they said in chorus.
“Praise the Lord Jehovah!” said Mary with feeble jubilance.
Then men turned and looked at Chaff. They looked at the manger. It was as if they both had an idea at once. The innkeeper lumbered toward Chaff and Joseph followed. “Chaff, my good cat. You are never underfoot. You thought out here it would be quiet.” The men grabbed the manger and lifted it between them. “You thought you had found a resting place away from the crowd, but now I must ask you to let us borrow your bed for the baby.”
Chaff sprung from the manger and scurried across the floor. To the box, to the window beam. From here he could see the human kitten in the arms of the woman. Now her face was unworried. Her kitten was wrapped in a scrap of a blanket, and she reclined on the her hay couch. She saw the manger beside her, and turned to look up at the window where Chaff was seated. His tail was curled around him, but he flicked the very tip of it in celebration.
“Thank you,” she said to him sweetly.
Chaff looked away. Outside the stable it was dark now. The master was turning down the narrow alley to the inn. Chaff looked back at the serene woman who was kissing the head of her kitten. He slunk to the hay bail, to her side. The man sat opposite them, staring. He heard them breathing. Maybe they were praying. He stretched himself on the bail along the woman’s thigh. And before he drifted into sleep, he was sure he heard the human kitten purr.
