Advent Calendar Day 13
Today we are lucky enough to have an offering from the always delightful and talented Natasha Chesterbrook. I was doubly thrilled to see Natasha chose Cosmo and John from Bedknobs and Broomsticks for the holiday treatment. 😀😉 I especially love the POV she chose!
Bedknobs and
Broomsticks
“Ow! Goddess above.” rubbing his knee Cosmo backs out of thecloset and scowls at me as if I’d tried to cause him bodily harm while sittingperfectly still here in the hallway.
“Pye, surely you remember where we put it?” he hisses.
Raising a paw, I ignore him and proceed to groom. Hiss at mewill you!
Life with Cosmo is always a bit chaotic but even hundred-year-oldfamiliars can get used to anything if their witch is … well, their witch.
I’ll admit there was a time in the last couple of years afterCosmo had sworn off all magic that I thought I might have to move on. A witch’sfamiliar is a link to the magical realm and their constant companion.With his vow, I’d felt as useful as a chocolate teapot at an English tea.
And his whirlwind romance and marriage to the mortal John –or as I like to think of him, The Comish – seemed to seal my fate as unneeded,even if I wasn’t unwanted.
But then things took a turn.
A series of seemingly never-ending adventures over the lastsix months, both magical and mundane, happened including more than one attempton Cosmo’s life. In fact, one home invasion was thwarted by my own heroics. Itry not to boast.
“Ha! Found it!” Cosmo’s exclamation of joy from the closet isshort-lived as it is quickly followed by a loud thump and the tinkling ofbreaking glass. “Blessed be!” he wails. That must be the box of those hand-blownglass Christmas ornaments he bought at an estate sale back in October.
He’s determined to start the yuletide season with a bang – whichis exactly what it sounds like he’s just done. But why the fuss? One smallspell and the baubles will be good as new. Or better still, if he wants toavoid The Comish’s disapproval, Bridget is more than willing to make therepairs.
***
Cosmo holds up a glass tumbler, its pale green contentsswirling about inside. An ill-timed sneeze might have betrayed my opinion ofsuch a concoction, but he chooses to ignore me in favor of concentrating onfinding the perfect Yuletide elixir – or cocktail, in the mundane world. Itreeks of rum and desperation. My all too sensitive nose is having none of it.
“Don’t be so picky. You’ll still get your special treat ofTuna Tartare. This is just for John and me. I want it to be our new Christmas tradition.”
One sip later and he is pouring the remainder down thedrain.
***
I bat the ribbon curls across the floor enjoying how theyrolled and skittered away. I may have more than a century of magical experiencebehind me, but one never gets too old for this kind of fun.
“Ow!” Cosmo’s cry halts me in my tracks.
Around him lay the detritus of his endeavor to create theperfect holiday wreath, a combination of evergreen branches, pinecones,cinnamon sticks, dried fruit and garland. The glue gun is clearly his undoing.He stands there holding his finger with a forlorn look on his face.
It’s the same one he wore after the disaster that was thegingerbread house. Cosmo maybe a magnificent witch with a penchant for solvingmysteries but he will never be tapped to solve a housing crisis. Or a bakingcrisis for that matter.
***
We are in the guest room looking for the perfect hidingplace – well, one of us is anyway. Certainly, I know every nook and cranny ofthis abode and can give Cosmo a list ranked in order by comfort and fit. However,he isn’t looking to hide a Russian Blue cat but a large, gayly wrapped box. I don’tsee why all the bother. The Comish would hardly be the sort to peek before thebig night. That’s more Cosmo’s style.
Not that The Comish will be hiding romantic gestures in theattic eaves. His idea of gift giving perfection is a pair of handmade Italian leatherboots, or a trip to Milan for a fitting of said boots. Practical, generous andelegant.
Now Cosmo is standing on a stool in an attempt to reach ahigh shelf above the wardrobe. Foreseeing the outcome long before it is met, Ido not stick around for the tears.
***
“What exactly were you thinking?” The Comish asks gently.
They sit on their gray velvet couch with Cosmo’s footresting in his lap and a towel full of ice pressed to a swollen ankle. Cosmofiddles with the bandage on his burnt finger.
“Aren’t hideously ornate wreathes and hiding presents for Christmaswhat everyone does?” Cosmo sounds lost.
The Comish sighed, “Well, maybe on TV but this is just youand me. You could have just put my gift under the tree.”
“I want our first Christmas to be perfect. To include allthose traditions you grew up with.”
“We’re spending it together. It doesn’t get more perfectthan that. Anything else is just dressing.”
It doesn’t sound in the least romantic but Cosmo melts likealways when given the Comish’s unvarnished but absolutely sincere truth. Thetowel of ice slips to the floor but I doubt they notice what with the kissingand all.
I leave them to it as I am sure the lump in my throat is onlya leftover bit of tuna. Yes, tuna. No doubt about it.
Joyeux noël!
