This is a really charming story about a little homeless kitty on Christmas Eve. It is by Constance Rose Pultz. Born on December 4, 1913 in Yonkers, New York, Constance was an only child. She was a prolific author, writing much poetry and many stories and winning awards in writing competitions throughout her life. She was published in many magazines, and even wrote a couple of poetry chapbooks.
She retired from a steamboat company named American President Lines in 1979, moving to Charleston, South Carolina soon after.
Constance died on Feb 24 2010 at 96 years old.
Let’s go back to 1927, when a story of hers was published in St. Nicholas Magazine.
Pussy’s Christmas Eve
By Contance R. Pultz (Age 13)
(Honor Member. Cash Award)
A small, hungry-looking, black kitten, a perfect picture of the usual stray cat, was slinking unobtrusively in and out of the crowded streets of New York. At every fresh noise and screech, the little animal would hurry into some protecting doorway.
As he hurried along Broadway, Kitty wondered where his next meal was coming from. That morning the butcher’s boy had tossed him a bone, and the day before a kind lady had given him a saucer of milk and some meat, but where was dinner coming from? Already Kitty was growing hungry.
His thoughts were cut short by a stone which went whizzing over his head. Turning, he saw an ugly-looking boy throwing stones at him. Pussy then raced down the street as fast as his legs would carry him, till he was forced to rest in a doorway.
It soon became dark and, after prowling around all day, the little cat began to feel quite tired. It was a very cold Christmas Eve, and the snow was falling fast. As he stood shivering on the sidewalk, a kind-looking old gentleman came along. He saw Pussy and stopped to talk to him. Suddenly he picked the cat up and started down the street. A passing taxi was hailed and, still holding the kitten, he climbed in.
The taxi stopped at a beautiful residence surrounded by vast grounds and, after paying the driver, the kind man alighted.
“Whatever can this mean?” thought Kitty. “I wonder if he is going to give me a home.”
The old gentleman entered the house. “Janet,” he called, “Janet see what I have here,” From the next room came a girl who proved to be his granddaughter.
“What a perfectly darling kitten!” she cried. “Wherever did you get him?” Then without waiting for an answer, Janet rattled on, “He looks half starved, poor thing; I’ll take him down to the kitchen and give him some milk.”
While Kitty was lapping up the milk, pausing now and then to look around, Mr. Wallace told his granddaughter how he had found the kitten.
“Why, the dear little thing,” exclaimed Janet. “We must certainly keep him. Suppose we name him ‘Jimps.’ Won’t Mother be surprised when she ctomes home and finds we have a cat?”
That night when little Jimps was dozing by the fire, he thought, “I know this man is Santa Claus, ’cause just now I saw him go out all dressed in a red suit with a whole sack of toys.”
The next morning Jimps found a ball and a collar beside his cushion, and to this day he thinks Mr. Wallace is Santa Claus.