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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72" style='word-wrap:break-word'><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Scarlet Ribbons for Her Hair<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>The real story<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>By DeAnna Quietwater Noriega<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Many years ago, I was just a kitten living my first life. I was born in summer. My mother resided in an alley behind a dumpster. There were three of us in the family. My brother was an orange tiger striped tabby and my mother a midnight black child of the streets. I took after her with the addition of a white tuxedo vest and white forepaws. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Late that fall, as the nights were growing cold, mother told me it was time for me to move out on my own. I had learned to hunt and didn’t need her milk to survive. I was hard pressed to keep body and soul together. All of the best locales were owned by larger unfriendly cats. I wandered further each day, becoming weaker with hunger. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>I had been sheltering in some bushes next to the rickety steps of a small rundown house, near the edge of town, when a young girl with hair as black as my coat and large blue eyes came down those steps. She looked in my direction. Even though I was crouched and kept very still she spotted me. Her face broke into a smile so sunny that it made me feel warm all over. Her voice was soft and gentle.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'> “You look cold and hungry KitKat. Come here and I will find you something to eat. Mama has gone to work, and then she will go to night school, so you can come in for a while and get warm.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>The girl found me a small bowl and filled it with some leftover beef stew. She placed a cup with a missing handle full of cool water beside the bowl and after I had cleaned the bowl completely, she placed a small pillow on the sill of a sunny window to make me comfortable for a nap. Then she gathered her books and hurried off to school. Late in the afternoon, she returned and heated the rest of the stew and mixed some biscuit dough. Although Becca was only about ten years old, she knew how to prepare simple things. Her mother Ivy came home briefly to share this plain fare before rushing off to night school. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Becca lifted the pan of golden brown biscuits from the oven and Ivy ladled the stew into bowls. I was lying quietly on my cushion in the window. Ivy sat down to eat and Becca lifted me and brought me over to place me in her mother’s lap.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center;text-indent:.5in'>“Look mama, see how thin she is? I am calling her KitKat, like the candy bar because she is so sweet. I know we don’t have the money for Christmas presents, but if we keep her, she can be our present to each other. Ivy looked into Becca’s pleading eyes. Her work worn hand stroked my soft fur. That is how I joined Becca and her mother, becoming a part of their family. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Time flew by and a year later, Christmas was again approaching. There was no money for pretty packages for them. Taking me in meant some sacrifices in an already tight budget. If they had not added me to their family, I probably would have had a short hungry first life. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>I did my best to help where I could, catching mice, curling up on Becca’s feet to keep them warm while she did homework at the kitchen table. I waited up for Ivy, and sang a cheerful chirrup to welcome her home each night. I kept Becca company while her mother rushed from job to school with only a half hour break to snatch dinner from cans heated on the stove by Becca. I played silly games to make them smile. I followed Ivy when she came from her night school classes to peek in to check on Becca. That was when we heard the end of her bedtime prayer. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>“And for me, some scarlet ribbons, scarlet ribbons for my hair.” When Ivy had tiptoed back to the kitchen, I sat on her lap while she tried to get quiet in her heart so she could sleep. Later, when I made my rounds to be sure my people were sleeping, I found Becca breathing softly tucked snugly in her bed. Ivy wasn’t doing as well. Her pillow was damp with tears. I curled against her side and purred her to sleep. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>I <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>knew that Becca’s request was impossible. There was no way Ivy could get those ribbons. I slipped out the cat door and hurried across town. Only Tasha, queen of cats might be able to help. What price would she accept? <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>I crept into the old barn where she held court on Christmas Eve. Hundreds of cats gathered there to sing her praises. I waited until the time of supplications came. I stepped up and made my request for scarlet ribbons for Becca’s hair. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Tasha’s green eyes glared down at me. “<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>What will you give for those ribbons?” she growled. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>I was the least of her court, a small black cat born in an alley of no exotic breeding or importance. I had only one thing I could give. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>“Oh great queen, I offer one of my nine lives. May you live one life beyond your allotted number and I one less.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>The trade was made and her minions were sent out to search the town for lengths of scarlet ribbon. Velvet bows disappeared from wrapped gifts beneath Christmas trees. Satin ribbons were taken from door wreaths. Sewing rooms were searched for ribbons left from holiday dressmaking. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal align=center style='text-align:center'>Nearing the end of my 8<sup>th</sup> life I have no regrets. The look of amazement on Ivy’s face and the trusting joy on Becca’s when she woke to find her prayer had been answered was worth the sacrifice. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>