It was a human world, so they said. Those who said it were human of course. It was funny how so many other species inhabited it alongside them, but they felt it was all theirs. They were the most intelligent species on the planet, so they claimed, and thus it befell to them to rule over it.

                They did a damned lousy job of it.

                Then there was the matter of The Unleashed. It can be said to have been a fiasco of incredible proportions. The common term had multiple meanings, depending on who you were talking to, but in the end, the result was all the same. They were an experimental class of organisms combining human DNA with that of animals in an attempt to create a hybrid class.

In this there was some unexpected success, but the backlash from the existing “pure-blood' population was terrible. Of course, by the time it was found out, a large number of the test subjects, having been strenuously trained in secret labs for years, escaped into the regular world to disappear from sight.

The general public only began to take notice when sporadic observations were reported, and after that a few specimens were shot and killed. The tabloids had a media heyday, and when one of these new creations was captured alive, the world was turned on its head.

This was of course many years into the future from when you might think it might have happened, and yet, people hadn't change as much as they might have liked to think they had. There were still kind-hearted folks out there, but it was the stupid, troglodytic, maniacal ones who always seemed to assume power. And thus, the world was in the hands of the mindless morons who put them there to begin with.

Despite this general atmosphere, laws were passed that were meant to protect this new species, or sub-species, or whatever these new hybrids were to be called. For the most part however they stayed well away from human settlements, but that was a tough trick to do. Humans claimed ownership over everything, which was an egotistical thing at best. This planet had been spinning far longer than any simple hairless apes had been walking on it. No one ever owned a single part of it. It was just that they failed to grasp that idea.

Eventually, The Unleashed began to find shelter in the bigger cities, hiding in sewers and abandoned subways. It was by chance that someone years ago, breaking established rules, stumbled upon a small furry infant of one of these newcomers and took it home to raise it.

And so a new pet industry was created. Where The Unleashed had been looked upon as possible equals and therefore something to be feared, they were now something that could be subjugated and made to be subservient to the will and whims of mankind.

The problem with that was; you were trying to make a plaything out of something intelligent and in some cases capable of greater thought capacity than the “owners". Humans didn't have a problem with that though, for they had spent much of their early history making slaves of each other. Now, so many decades - nay centuries into the future of those earlier days, they were still no better than they had once been.

Nicodemus was musing over this and many of the other problems he saw within his own species. They could be so enlightened, and yet they could be so cruel; demeaning and degrading in a way that he felt should have been cast aside long ago. His thoughts carried him as much as did his feet; over long distances and at times, into unpleasant territory. And as if to highlight his present thoughts, he saw a crumbled figured half hidden under a pile of garbage.

At first glance he thought it was human. The legs exposed were shoeless, without socks and as bare as any normal female. But the skin didn't seem quite right. And then there were the feet; the toenails were dark and curved. He used his cane to flip back a trash bag and saw more of the form laying there in the filth. He very nearly covered it back up and moved on.

But the being, whatever it was or had been, let out a rasping breath. The ribcage heaved and sighed with one long, drawn-out breath.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. His walk had carried him to a rather derelict part of the city. It was probably fairly safe here in the daylight, but when night fell it was just as likely to become the home to a lot of undesirables.

Which in his opinion meant a greater portion of the human population.

He had an automobile, though he rarely used it. It was only taken out of the garage for the most important of events. He pondered over the tattered body for a few minutes, debating the sapience of his pending decision. Then with a fatalistic shrug, he covered over the body and walked on.

His feet impatiently took him back to his brownstone where he changed his clothing, grabbed a few sheets and climbed into the driver's side.  He felt for the gun under the seat, which he had yet to use in his lifetime. It was one thing to walk alone, and it was another to go against the grain and try and save a non-human. People took exception to that. He never understood why. But then, they were often just as unkind towards each other, so who really cared what others thought?

He made his way as quickly as he could to the spot where he had left the body. Who knew; by now the life force may have given up. He pulled into the alley and directly adjacent to the pile of garbage. It remained as he had left it. He pulled the bags off and flung them to the side, laying out his sheets and wrapping the now exposed and obviously female form onto them. It was rather undignified the way he rolled her up in them, but he neither wished to soil his interior nor did he wish to make it obvious what he was carrying.

If there was anyone around, they paid him no mind.

His drive back was uneventful. He pulled into his garage and closed the door. As an extra assurance he bolted the latch. Not given to paranoia, he was still a cautious man. He hadn't been raised as a fool and he wasn't about to start acting like one.

Well, he might be acting the part of one now.

He dragged the limp body out of the backseat and onto his shoulder before heading up the short stairs to his home. Keeping the body over his shoulder, he carried her until he got to the bathroom. She might live or she might die, but she was going to be clean whichever direction her soul decided to go.

He unwrapped the now filthy sheets from her body and drew water into the tub. When it was half full he lifted the form into it and gently let her rest, her head bobbing just barely above the surface. He was going to try washing her, what with all of the dirt and blood caked to her, but seeing as her fur was nearly gone, he decided to let her soak for a while to loosen up what he could. Much of it might very well be scabs and dried blood.

He took the time then to look her over. She might have been pretty once, in her own way. Her face projected out away from the skull in a manner very unlike a human's. From the remnants of whiskers and the dark nose, he assumed that she was part vulpine or lupine, but a little patch of reddish fur that remained on her side answered his question as to her being the former. Her head was a mess, and he carefully washed the cuts and bruises that had to have been inflicted by someone quite hateful.  Her one ear was torn, so he got out a bit of thread and a needle and did the best he could to repair it. He figured since she was already unconscious, what harm could it do?

The rest of the day he spent in getting her clean. The bruises that he exposed were almost worse than the dirt that had hidden them. He could only wonder (and shudder) to think what other harms had befallen her. They were there most likely because she had been born different from everyone else and someone took exception to that.

After he had drained and filled the tub three times, he felt she had been sufficiently cleansed to remove from the bathroom and dry off. Carrying her to his bedroom, he toweled her as carefully as he could manage, pulled back the covers and set her on his mattress. With gentle hands he covered her with the sheets and comforter (despite it being early autumn) and left her to rest.

He wandered the house for a bit, eventually finding himself standing in the kitchen, wondering what to give her for sustenance. She could die at any time, but if she survived, her continued recovery would be dependent on food. She could hardly swallow in this condition, but he had no method of giving her intravenous fluids.  He therefore decided to wait until tomorrow and see if he even needed to worry about it. She might breathe her last during the night.

He settled down on the couch, waking occasionally and looking into the bedroom to see if life was still in her. Each quiet intrusion brought to his ear the rasping sound of her lungs filling and emptying, bringing with it some small sense of relief.

He eventually drifted off into a troubled sleep of his own, dreaming of things past. When he awoke that next morning, it was with a start. He whipped up, sweat pouring off of his face, but the house was quiet and safe. He remembered what he had dreamed and settled back down against the cushions. Then he recalled the events of the previous day and lept to his feet. Padding as softly as he could, he made his way to his bedroom and peered in.

She was still alive, by some small miracle.

He went to the bathroom and relieved himself. As he sat there, he noticed that there was a ring around the inside of the tub that remained as a stark reminder of who and what he had brought home. But in his heart he felt he was doing the right thing. Human arrogance sometimes had to be fought one small, tortuous step at a time.

He returned and entered silently, sitting on the edge of the bed and checking her pulse. It was weak but regular. Not knowing what else to do, he forwent his own breakfast and worked on getting some broth down her throat. He retrieved a baster from a kitchen drawer and used it to carefully run the flavored liquid into her throat. After a few spoonfuls had been dropped in, she sputtered and spit the stuff out. It was the most life she had shown for twenty four hours.

She finished her paroxysm of coughing and followed it by licking her lips. He dropped a little more into her mouth, finding that rather instinctively she was swallowing it without difficulty. He could only imagine how long she had been down. Her throat was probably parched beyond reason.

He continued to feed her a drop or two at a time until she seemed to lapse back into a stupor. He checked her over, making sure she hadn't soiled herself, and then covered her back up to rest. He cleaned the tub, used it himself, and then set about doing his normal routine as best as his mind would allow him. He never had much to do, seeing as he was retired due to a disability. He never felt like he was all that unable to work, but the doctors had told him that his heart was weak.

What did they know? They had told him he would be dead in three years. That was over six years ago! He would go when he was damned well ready!

He felt a little heat - that born of ire - build up inside him. He would go when it was his time and no sooner! And in the intermediary time period, he intended to be as good a person as his late wife had told him he had been and always should be. He had never remarried, finding the thought of dating and wooing another to be far more challenging then he cared to attempt.

He wondered for a moment if that had somehow dictated his actions of the previous day. There hadn't been anyone in his life to care for for a very long time. Maybe this creature was a mere substitute for human interaction. Only time would tell.

His attentiveness to her, whoever this interesting creature turned out to be; it was paid off after three days of care. She opened her eyes, as much as she could with them still being swollen and bruised, looked at him and then to the room. She turned back to him and stared into his eyes. He smiled at her, feeling both pride in his care and pity at her present condition. Her eyes seemed to soak up his emotions as she gazed through narrowed eyelids.

“Hello," was all he could manage to say.

“H-h-hello."

“How are you feeling?"

She tried to sit up but failed. “Terrible. What happened?"

He put a hand on her shoulder. “I can't say. I found you half dead under a pile of garbage. It looks as though someone took out a lot of frustration and anger out on you."

She tried to absorb that. “I don't remember anything."

“It's probably just as well."

She tried to sit up, this time managing it. “No, you don't understand. I don't remember anything. Who am I?"

He was rocked back by that. He had never considered that she might suffer from amnesia. It made sense considering how she had been beat pretty badly about the head.

“I don't know. You were naked and alone."

She looked at his face and then to her own arms, which stuck out thin and sickly from under the sheets.

“What happened to me? I think I used to have fur!"

“You did, I'm sure. But someone went a very long ways to rip from you everything that made you – you."

“Who would do such a thing?"

“Sadly, many people would."

She sank back into the bed. “Really? I don't understand."

He patted her shoulder. “Me either my dear. We have such a great potential for doing good and we always seem to squander it."

“Who is this we?"

He smiled sadly. “Humans. What I am."

“And what am I then?"

“Lucky to be alive."

She thought about that. “I am unclear as to what you mean. I assume that I am not like you."

“That depends on what you wish to dwell upon. On the outside we have our differences. On the inside we do as well. But differences only make us more interesting. I mean, why would you want to be the same as someone else?"

She thought on that for a while.

“I don't know. I don't remember what I was, or who I was, or anything about myself." Then she stopped and thought some more. “Why can I speak with you?"

“Meaning?" he asked.

“I can talk, and I can remember snatches of things, and yet I don't remember who I am. How is that possible?"

“I don't know. If I could have, I would have taken you to the nearest hospital, but I would have been ridiculed and perhaps arrested for doing so. I have very little medical knowledge, and you I'm sure are a bit different even from the normal human anatomy I am familiar with."

“Human. You keep saying that. What am I if not human?"

He sighed. “I can't find a term that I like. People have all kinds of names for your kind, and few of them are nice. You apparently resulted from gene splicing many years ago, and so are technically artificially produced hybrid life forms."

“Yes, that does seem to spark something in my memory. But where am I from?"

“I don't know. To be honest, you're one of the few I've ever seen. The city isn't a safe place to be for even my kind, and for you and yours, it's doubly hazardous."

“Hate."

“What?" he asked with surprised concern in his voice.

“Hate. Why is there so much hate?"

“Oh. Fear. Humans are wise, and yet they easily fall back to their primal senses when confronted with things they cannot understand."

She pondered that, her eyes dropping to lidded closure. “Fear. Yes, I remember fear. I remember losing it too. It's like part of me died."

He put the back of his hand against her forehead. It was hot, but then he had no idea what her normal temperature might be.  She raised her hand and grasped his wrist, opening one eye.

“What do you fear?"

“I don't know that I do fear things anymore. I dread some, and I loathe some, but I can't say that I fear any."

“Then I believe you are lucky." With that she fell back asleep.

He stayed by her bedside until she roused once more, this time uncovering her and carrying her to the bathroom so that she could try to urinate. She took a moment, as if remembering how that function worked before sending a steady stream into the bowl for nearly a minute.

“Thank you. That was most kind." She leaned her face in towards his cheek and pressed her nose against it.

He felt the blood rush to the very spot. “You're very welcome."

As he turned to return her to his bed, she stiffened and asked him to stop. He looked to see her staring into the vanity mirror.

“That cannot be me, can it?"

“I'm afraid so."

She struggled out of his arms and landed lightly, though off balanced, onto the tiled floor. She hobbled to the sink and clung to it for support. The mirror held her reflection, and though only of her external appearance, she was capable of seeing more. She turned her head, looking at the shaved and burnt fur, the tattered ear with a rough stitch running through it and at the multiple bruises.

“Hate is such a terrible thing."

“Yes it is."

“Why don't you hate me?"

“I don't even know you, so how could I hate you?"

“Do people hurt other humans that they do not know?"

“Yes."

“Then answer my question please."

“Well, some people just seem to get angry and have to find a way of venting. They'll attack anything that seems out of place to them. Even if that thing isn't an actual threat."

“Are you angry?"

“Sometimes. But mostly I am sad."

She turned her head, swooning a little as she did. “What have you to be sad about?"

“Much. But I will tell you later if you persist in wishing an answer. For now, I think you need to be in bed."

He caught her just as she started to fall. Thankfully she was a lissome little thing, thin from the lack of food, but having a naturally narrow form. She wasn't much to have to handle.

“I believe you are correct," she said just before she passed out.

She woke up later in the day, blinking her eyes to rid them of the encrustations that built up during her rest. The lids were less puffy now, so that she could see more clearly. The man, the one she could only think of as her rescuer and savior, was asleep in an armchair with a book in his lap. He looked so very peaceful as he lightly snored, his face presently free of the contortions she had seen in it when he was awake.  She knew not what trials she had gone through, though they were highly visible on her face. The same for him. Though lacking physical violence, the emotions that were in turmoil within him were vividly apparent in his features.

Who was he, she wondered? Who was she? She had vague glimpses of her past, but the scenes in her mind made no sense. As she pondered, her nose found the scent of something delicate and wonderful. She turned about until she spied a single red rose. She knew what it was, for in her jumbled memories she recalled seeing and smelling them in someone's garden once. She knew the name from a book, but where she had read it was lost in the confused labyrinth that was her mind.

She knew to that there was some legend behind the hue of the flower, but her mind refused to divulge it. But she knew that he must have felt she deserved special treatment, for he had done so much for her without regard to his own comfort. This had to be his bed and this was surely his house and she had no place in either. But she lacked the strength and the will to leave. It seems that she had died once. If she were to live a little while longer, then could there be a better place than this?

He stirred, stretched and yawned. She was tempted to feign sleep, but she was captivated with watching him. He was older, for a human, with a spot of gray tingeing his fur - errr hair - as it covered his head and spread down around his face. She had fur once; reddish brown stuff, with patches of white and black. Her arms once looked like they had fancy gloves on them, and there was white under her chin running down her chest and belly.

She got thinking then of how her body had been denuded and defiled. She pulled back the covers to look it over a little more carefully. Her breasts had been covered in the shortest, finest fur imaginable, and going down even farther, had been graced with the same. While it was gone (mostly) it did seem to be coming back. Little stubble showed where it was trying to burst forth again. Hair, like grass, seemed to grow no matter what difficulties were thrown at it.

“You'll recover it in due time."

She dropped the sheet and turned away from him in her embarrassment.

He would have nothing of it. “I have seen you from top to bottom my dear. You were not worried before. So why now?"

“I don't know. I guess because I feel ugly."

“You are ugly, but not of your own doing. I believe that you were the epitome of beauty before someone tried to take it away from you."

She felt a hot flush in her cheeks. Curiously, she felt it elsewhere as well.

“I don't know about that!"

“I guess I'll have to wait and see then."

“Wait?"

“For your fur to grow out. I think you have the physical structure to have remarkable beauty. You are part fox, are you not?"

“I guess so."

“Your tail is pretty pathetic looking at the moment, but given time, I think it'll recover its once fluffy appearance."

She pulled up the slim fleshy extension of her spine and ruefully stroked it. “Yes, it used to be rather pretty I think. But now look at it."

“I did. I think that anyone who would do such awful deeds deserves a punishment equal to it." There was anger in his words.

She dropped her tail and looked at him. “And then what? Wouldn't that perpetuate the hate?"

He sighed. “I suppose it would.“

Their conversation waned after that. But they seemed to have come to an understanding. There would be no more talk of matters dark and brooding. It would do neither of them any good.

Day after day she recovered more strength and lost more of the injuries. Her fur grew in, albeit more slowly than she might have wished. He gave her a robe and a few items of clothing that happened to fit her to wear about the house since she was still very self conscious about it. Still, by the beginning of December, she was looking more like herself, even if she still felt a little lost inside. He allowed her all the liberties he could, with the exclusion of going outside. The reasons were fairly obvious. But beyond that one proscription, she had free use of his home.

And each morning there was a fresh flower in the vase by his bed. All this time he refused to take back the room and its sleeping arrangements that were rightly his. It was a kind gesture, one that made her wonder about him. He seemed to ask nothing of her, and that was good, for she had nothing to offer. It was doubtful she ever had anything to give. He had dedicated so much of his time to her already that she knew she could never be able to repay him. But there was one solitary thing he had not given up during their growing weeks together.

They were talking one day when she came to that startling conclusion. “You've never told me your name!"

“So I haven't. My given name is Nicodemus, though you may call me Nick if you like."

“Nick? No I think I prefer the other. It has more character to it, just as you have about you. Are you named after someone close?"

“No one in particular. The name is from the old Christian Bible. I think he was the person who helped to bury the man they called Jesus."

“Jesus? I think I've heard mention of him. Isn't this upcoming season named for him?"

“It's not a season anymore but just an old holiday. It has faded into a facetious façade that seems to have been confounded into a twisted meaning of its original purpose. It's still around mind you, but I don't think most people remember what the day was really supposed to mean."

“Which is what?"

“For me, it was always a time for renewing friendships and loving the people you love a little more intensely. Gift giving was always a part of that, but when the large corporations began cramming merchandizing down people's throats, many got fed up with the whole thing and tossed it aside."

“I seem to recall some tales about this day. There were once sumptuous feasts and great revelry – yes?"

He raised his eyebrows. “You seem to have a keen ear."

“My ears are just fine - as are my eyes. I can read you know."

“To be honest, I didn't know. I have many books here if you would care to try some on for size."

“For size?"

He chuckled. “To see if they're to your liking."

“Do you have anything on this Christmas?"

“Yes, I think I have several. I have a very old copy of one called A Christmas Carol."

“Who was she?"

He was stumped for a moment, but only a moment."No, no! A carol is a song. This story was penned by a writer from England. It's about rediscovering one's heart before it's too late."

“Sounds like a good enough place to start among this vast collection you purport to have."

He escorted her to the room that served as his den. In it was row after row of books. He found the one he had mentioned, and indeed its appearance was much like hers had been that first day. It was worn and battered, but she sensed that it was out of the love of the words within rather than from carelessness and abuse.

She flipped it open and began to read out loud, in a quiet, sensual voice.

“Marley was dead to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.

Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail. “

She looked up. “Who were Scrooge and Marley?"

Nicodemus smiled. “You'll just have to read it and find out. I'll not spoil the story by telling you how it goes."

She nodded and found a chair, looking to him for approval before sitting down. When he left her, she was totally engrossed in the pages. He felt a little skip in his heartbeat at her desire to read. He too was an avid fan of the written word, having forgone the more accepted method of electronic media. He used it when it suited his needs, but in his heart he was as old fashioned as that book she now held in her delicate hands.

She very nearly stopped talking to him after that. She was far from acting rude, instead being totally engrossed in his books. She pulled one down and devoured it before moving on to another. In fact, she was going through them so quickly and neatly that he lost all track of what she had and had not read. When she finished a title, she lovingly returned it to its rightful place on the shelves.

He occupied himself during this time with doing a little decorating about his place. He pulled down dusty boxes from the attic and rediscovered the joy of what the holiday was for. He put up decorations long packed away, finding a new value to them as he found places for them here and there about his home. Much of it was not very religious, but then the holiday had moved well away from its spiritual roots so very long ago it hardly mattered.

He had a little statue of the common persona assigned to the holiday, a fictional character known as Santa Claus; a mildly overweight bearded fellow dressed in red and white, wearing black boots and gloves and bearing a happy smile. It reminded Nicodemus of some of the old oriental deities with their round bellies and joyous countenances.  All of them seemed so silly to him, but joy in any form was worth whatever stretch of the imagination was required to achieve it.

She didn't even notice the change in the decor. She was spellbound by his books and took to sleeping in his den. A week before the Christmas holiday he decided to resume his occupation of his quarters. If she complained he would return to sleeping on the couch. She rarely left her reading so she failed to notice the change.

So while they didn't have much in the way of in-depth conversations, he continued with the routine he had started and thus set the vase and its daily occupant in the den where she could see it. He rarely stuck around, not wishing to bother her. Had he done so, he would have seen the smile each time she looked up and saw it. She liked this human, for as far as she could recall he was the only human who had been nice to her. She had given up trying to remember details of her life, for those that she could cudgel to the surface were generally filled with pain and sorrow.

Books were wonderful! She couldn't remember how she was able to read, but she could do so with alacrity. He had much that was storytelling only, but here and there were works that described life for real. Life for humans of course, but still - life in faraway places. She longed to go just outside of his doors and see the place she had lived in before, but she knew it was wiser to stay hidden indoors.

Thus it came as a surprise when he roused her from her reading one day.

“I have a little something for you."

“Is it Christmas already?"

“No, not quite yet. This isn't a gift like that. It's something that I think you might find a little more practical than I think holiday presents are supposed to be."

He handed her a sizable box, not quite heavy but not precisely light either. She looked at him and then to the box, wondering if she should open it. But he was a kind person, and whatever was inside must have taken some thought. Even as she tore open the paper surrounding it, she remembered once again that she had no way of repaying him for all of his kindnesses. She so wished that he would refrain from doing anything else for her. Finding herself in a mental quandary, she did the only thing she thought she could and opened it.

Inside was a long winter coat, complete with a large faux fur lined hood. There was also a pair of gloves, a scarf and boots.

“But why?"

“Why? For the sole reason that being a captive, even such where your confinement is for your own safety leaves you as little more than a prisoner of this house. And as a matter of fact, I wanted to take a walk with a friend, something I haven't done for a very, very long time."

She saw what he had done. In summer she would be forced to stay hidden, but in this cold weather, everyone bundled up against the cold. Everyone but her kind. Fur was far better than anything manmade.

“You shouldn't have!"

“This I did as much for myself as I did for you. Will you honor me by accompanying me on a walk?"

“Yes!"

Once she was dressed she was barely recognizable. Still, she felt a little nervous going outside. The instant she stepped onto the stoop she was grateful he had insisted. The air was full of fog, carrying with it minute ice crystals that danced and spun with every breath she took. Here and there were colored lights, put up by those who still remembered the old ways. It had been so long since she had set foot onto anything but his floors that she danced with unbridled enthusiasm.

“Nicodemus! This is beautiful!"

“And now twice as much as before, with you out in it," he said quietly.

She missed the inflection and meaning of his words.

She did however slip her arm into his and walked where he walked. They went for miles, not stopping except to look at decorated homes and on occasion, looking into store windows. When the snow began to fall, she nearly stripped off her coat to frolic in the heaven-sent bounty of white. She remembered what she was and resisted the temptation. But she did do one thing out of spontaneity. She scooped up some of the snow, balled it and flung it straight at him.

It hit with a dull splat.

He looked down at the white spot on his dark coat, looked back at her, and in the blink of an eye managed to scoop up his own handful of snow and returned fire. They only desisted when they were both exhausted from their activities.

She was the first to stop. Huffing and puffing, she put her hands on her knees and gasped for air. “I'm so terribly out of shape!"

“I happen to like your shape! It's just that we're both just out of practice."

This time she caught his insinuation. She didn't let on, but it was becoming obvious that he had developed feelings for her. She liked that. It matched what she felt inside her own soul. She knew she shouldn't fall for a human, leastwise from what he had told her. And yet, she found that what he had on the inside was worth more than anything she knew of. It didn't seem to matter how dissimilar they looked like on the outside.

She was concerned with how little she knew about his past. He had once had a mate. But what could she tell him of her own history? She could remember only the barest etchings upon her mind, and even those were scrambled and largely indecipherable. He rarely talked about his former love and somewhere in her kind heart she knew that she had to ask him about her. She knew there would never be a good time and so blurted her thoughts out without hesitating to contemplate the possible results.

“Nicodemus?"

“Yes?"

“Might I ask a question?"

“You might."

“I mean, can I ask you something personal?"

“Of course. I have nothing to hide."

 “Will you tell me about your former mate?"

“My wife? If you wish. I'm not sure what you're looking for, but I'll tell you a few things about her. She was a wonderful person, inside and out. She was more of a partner than I believe that I ever deserved. She had bright eyes, a lilting voice and long curling hair with golden tresses. She was my partner, but she was more than half of our relationship."

“She sounds wonderful. I'm so sorry you lost her."

“It's true she died, but I didn't lose her. I carry her here," he said as he held his hands over his heart.

“So you still love her?"

“No. I love her memory. To love something that cannot love you in return is otiose."

“Otiose?"

“Sorry. It means pointless. Love is to be shared. So I love the memories, for in them we can still be together. I know it's a little pathetic, but I prefer to have my little peccadilloes, such as they are, to bring me a little happiness."

“So you are sad?"

“No. Well yes, I suppose I am. But I am alone. Life is meant to be shared." 

“I think I agree with you. I cannot remember much, so what I say has less meaning because of it, but I don't think I have ever felt happier in my life than I do at this moment."

“I'm glad to hear you say that. You are a wonderful person, though I wish I had something to call you."

“Oh yes, a name. I have been giving it some thought. I cannot remember what I was called before, so I have tried to decide upon a new one. Do you think that would be acceptable?"

“But of course! What have you decided upon?"

“Nothing solid as of yet. I have one that rings in my ears when I say it. But I am still unsure."

“There is no rush. Your company needs no name for it to be enjoyable."

She felt a flush of blood to her cheeks. He couldn't see it because of her now-dense hair, but she almost swore her red fur got a little brighter. “Thank you!"

“No, thank you!"

They wandered for a while longer, delighting in the accumulating snow and in each other's company. When she held out her paw to him, he initially locked his arm in her elbow. She smiled at his chivalry and countered by slipping her paw to his hand. He clutched it, giving it a little squeeze. She squeezed it back, feeling a thrill run through her yet again.

When they returned home he was pensively quiet, and she too had a mind full of thoughts to ponder. They said goodnight and went their separate ways, she to his den and he to his bedroom.

The day's flower, its aroma hanging in the air as it did every preceding day, sat there in quiet beauty. Her nose was exceedingly attuned to its aroma, and after all of the passing days, she hardly needed it there to remind her of his kindness. Each and every day she found a new one in place of the previous morning's offering. It was such a small gesture, and she hoped he understood how much it meant to her.

Some way or another she was going to repay him.

When she awoke on the day that was this Christmas, she noticed almost immediately that something was amiss. It wasn't anything immediately patent or apparent, but she sensed there was a lack; something was missing that should have been there.

It took her a moment to wake enough to notice. The flower was gone! For days – weeks - months; there had always been one there in the crystal vase. But now there was nothing. She felt a pang of sorrow. Had she said an unfortunate word that had upset him? Maybe he had taken her infatuation with his books as a slight.

She was going to have to fix this and fast!

She padded down to his bedroom and peeked in. The bed was already made. She slipped her way down to the living room and found it empty. But the smell of food from the kitchen showed that he was still within the four walls. She leaned past the doorframe so that she could see him without being obtrusive. The table was filled with more food than she had ever seen in one sitting. Up to this point he had been generous, but hardly effusive in his presentation of food.

He didn't look up from what he was doing, but his voice carried to her rather clearly. “Finally up are you?"

“How did you know?" she asked a she stepped into the light.

“I'm not a complete fool. I can hear floorboards creaking quite clearly down here."

“Oh. I thought that maybe…"

“Yes?" he asked, turning to face her.

“I thought maybe you had left."

“Now why would I leave my own house, especially on this holiday?"

“It's nothing…"

“It's something or else you wouldn't have mentioned it. What is it?"

“There was no fresh rose this morning."

“An oversight on my part. I took away the old one without thinking ahead. The florist is closed today."

“Oh I See. So you're not angry with me?"

“Heaven's sake – No! I couldn't find fault with you if my very life depended on it."

“But I'm not human."

“That is something you should be grateful for. Humans are often afflicted with delusions of adequacy. You are superior to anyone I know."

“You're just saying that…"

“Have I ever said an untruth to you?"

“Not that I know of."

“Then why would I start now?"

She lapsed into silence, smelling the food as the odors of spiced dishes and roasting meats came to her nostrils. He smiled as her stomach growled.

“Sit! I'll get you a plate." In no time he had a variety of treats arranged, from ham, soft boiled eggs to breads. He poured himself that bitter drink he called coffee, giving her her favored glass of milk.

They ate in silence for a while, though they each stole glances at the other, seeming to need to speak and feeling that it wasn't yet the right time. Nicodemus knew what he felt for this creature, nay this lovely vision of feminine beauty, and he knew he had no right to ask anything of her. He was wise enough to know that anything she did that he might ask of her she would do out of gratitude. His initial purpose was not to save her merely to become subject to his whims. He only wished that she would do what she wanted to do. At the same time he hoped, desperately so, for her to feel towards him as he felt for her. It might be too much to ask for, but this was the season for giving. As of today, he had nothing left to give. She had recovered fully. She could now do as she pleased.

She took a few bites of food, and then suddenly stopped and grinned mischievously. “You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!"

He was taken aback until he recalled the words. “From Dickens!"

“Yes!" she said, putting a few more forkfuls of food into her mouth. “I rather liked that book."

“Me too. It has remained a classic for a very long time."

“I can see why. But then many of your books seem to go back a long time, some a thousand years or more."

“I like to think that life was better back then, though I don't delude myself overly with that thought. But the authors seem to present a picture far better than the best painter has ever been able to do. I think that's because it allows the individual to imagine their own versions of the life depicted with the words."

“I agree. So if you were to write a story, what would it be?"

He blushed. “A love story I suppose."

“Really? Like Pride and Prejudice?"

“I hardly think I would have Austin's ability to tell a story."

“Then maybe you should write it as you see fit."

“I'm no good at writing. I'll stick to reading thank you very much."

“What a shame. I have a feeling that hands such as yours are more than capable of producing wonderful results." She allowed the corner of her mouth to turn up into a coquettish smile.

He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. And yet, he didn't want to seem forward or overbearing. “Maybe not as much as you might think."

“If you say so. But I think you may have many hidden talents that you refuse to show."

“Don't make me laugh!"

“And why not? Is there something wrong with it?"

He sighed. “No."

“Then do it!"

“What? Laugh?"

“Yes! All this time you have been kind to me, but you have rarely shown joy. Are you capable of it?"

“Yes!" But then he wondered. He carried a lot of sadness inside. So he looked into her face, staring deep into her eyes looking for something – anything to lift his spirits. Her smile changed shape as she watched him watching her. Finally he busted out laughing from the ridiculousness of their staring contest.

She cocked her head and said, “Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years it was a splendid laugh!"

He groaned. “Are you going to quote that book all day?"

“Only when I find it appropriate!"

He threw up his hands. “You win! I am Ebenezer Scrooge!"

“You most certainly are not! But you may have lost a little of the meaning of this day, maybe not as much as your fellows, but maybe still just a little."

“You could be right. So what am I missing?"

“What was it that Scrooge nearly missed out on?"

“His future."

“Right! What do you see in yours?"

“Nothing but loneliness"

“Nothing?"

“Well…"

“Nicodemus, are you blind?"

“You know that I am not!"

“No I don't. Do you see me?"

“Yes."

“No, I mean do you SEE me?"

“I fail to comprehend your meaning."

“I am here. True, I am here because you brought me here. But at any point I could leave. And yet I stay. Why?"

“That's a damn good question."

“I stay because I have fallen in love with you. I stay because leaving would make me sad."

“How do you know you're in love?" His heart was racing. If the doctors had been right, then this might just do him in.

“How does a person know if they're in love? How do you know you're in love?"

“Who said…?"

“Do you take me for a fool? I see it in your eyes that which I feel inside. I can understand if you feel you can't pair with something outside your species, but you once said that differences only made things more interesting."

“Pair?"

“Call it what you want. Some books make the act quite explicit, and others make it much more genteel. But my body reacts when I'm around you. Why do you think I have spent so much time reading? I hardly wished to make advances towards you that might be taken as concupiscent or provocative."

“Concupiscent?"

She grinned. “A word you do not know? I'm shocked. And yet, I think you get the idea."

“I do. But are you sure it's not just because you feel that you owe me for the things I've done?"

“I've thought about that. I'll never be able to repay you for those things. I have nothing to give you in return."

“But you have repaid me."

“What? How?"

“I needed to care for someone again. With you, I was able to do that."

“I see." She paused. “So where does that leave us now?"

“From the looks of it, in love."

She felt that rush of blood again.

“Are you sure?"

“Oh, I think I know my heart."

“Good. I think I know your heart as well."

He felt giddy and young again. The smell from his cooking still abounded in the air and it triggered in his memory a well-worn line from an old book. “He was conscious of a thousand odors floating in the air, each one connected with a thousand thoughts, and hopes, and joys, and cares, long, long, forgotten."

“Very good!" she exclaimed. “One of us should remember the good times."

“I wish I could help you to remember!" he said ruefully.

“I doubt I have much worth recalling. On the other hand, perhaps you can help me make new ones that I'll never wish to forget."

His hand was shaking as he held it out. She took it daintily and came over to sit on his lap. “So Nicodemus, isn't this funny little deity you have sitting on the mantle also referred to as Nick?"

His whole body was quivering. “Yes. He was sometimes called Saint Nicholas."

“Well, what if I tell you want I want for this Christmas. I think that was a tradition, was it not?"

“I believe so. But I'm hardly dressed like he would have been."

“True. You would need to put on an outfit in red, white and black." She leaned back and smiled. “How convenient! I happen to have all of those colors present right here on my coat. What say you try me on for size?"

“Try you on for size?" His gulp was audible.

“Yes. To see if I'm to your liking!"

Her smile grew to sly proportions as her words made an impact on his body. From her perch, it was apparent that his feelings for her were very much genuine.

“Are you sure?"

“Aren't you? Tell me what you're feeling."

He composed himself. “I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel; I am as merry as a school-boy. I am as giddy as a drunken man."

She got up. “It's not that I don't believe you, but if you're telling me the truth, prove it." And with a flick of her tail she turned and walked away, heading unerringly for the bedroom.

He sat there for a mere second before replying. “Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one Life's opportunities misused!—Yet such was I! Oh! Such was I!"

She turned back and winked. “Then quit wasting time. I'm beginning to like this holiday of yours, for I find it has great possibilities. And the only thing I believe that you'll regret will be in not following me to the bedroom."

Still he hesitated. “And what shall I call you, should I feel the need to call out your name?"

She backtracked and nodded knowingly to him. “Indeed. For many days you have given me a lovely flower, to keep me company while I returned to my natural appearance. So as of today, I shall return the favor. From this day forward I shall be known as Rose, and I will give myself to you each and every day that succeeds the previous one in much the same manner. It is a small gift, but it is all I have to give."

“It is a monumental gift, and one gratefully received."

And so began the truest of love stories. It was a quiet one, hidden away from the rest of the world, and that made it even better. And of it I say;

“There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor."

Of each they had equal shares, and of love many times more. And as Tiny Tim said, at the conclusion of the book;

“God bless Us, Every One."

And to the new couple, I wish them as much and more. Christmas is about birth, and rebirth, and of giving. And where there is giving, there is receiving. And that is the whole point my friends of the holiday. To be good; to be better; to be the best you can be to one another. It matters not what tokens you exchange, only of the hearts, the emotions and the feelings that go into them. And if you can do it on one day, then why not on all of them? Give as much as you can, and you will be granted an equal dose in return.

Merry Christmas to one and all.