The cat, the dog and the camel

Here’s a little seasonal smackerel that I wrote for the local church magazine. I had huge fun playing with the character voices.

We were not chosen because we were placid and strong, good for meat or being harnessed to the plough. Nor did we appeal because we wagged our tails and fawned over our new masters, helping them to hunt and warning them of danger. We were not chosen at all. We did the choosing. We felt the warmth from open doors, recognised the safe places and presented ourselves as being useful to the occupants. Ridding houses and barns of vermin, while we filled our stomachs.

The stable was warm and safe that night. Then the young woman came, tired and scared and filling the air with her cries—until they were replaced by the wailing of her baby. Soon all was calm, as she nursed the child and her man fussed over me, telling me how the baby was special. All new parents believe that, but there was the bit about his wife and the angel—and all the happenings after the baby was born—that made me think.

So, if he does turn out to be special, I want it to be known that it wasn’t the oxen that saw him first, because they’d dozed through all the rumpus. Nor was it the innkeeper’s idiot dog.

That baby chose a cat.

***

Sheep. I like sheep. Daft things, but biddable. I get the credit for keeping them in order. Shepherds. I like shepherds. I like my shepherds. They feed me, pat me, let me warm myself at their fire, let me lie on their feet. Angels. I’m not sure I like angels. Blinding things, like great shining birds filling the skies. And the noise. A message, my shepherds said, about a baby who was a king. I couldn’t make it out myself although if they said it was so, it must be true. They decided they’d need to go and see this newborn.

Joshua—I like Joshua best of all the shepherds—said I should go, too. To represent the animals. But the rest of them said I had work to do here, helping Eli to keep the flock safe. Joshua thought about that for a moment and then agreed. He said that this baby would understand about tending our flocks and keeping an eye on the daft one that always gets itself lost.

I approved, because I like that sheep best of all.

***

We camels came from half the world away, more years ago than there are stars in the sky. We walked over a great land bridge where now it’s only sea and ice. That’s the story passed down from every mother camel to her calf.

It feels like we’ve come across half the world these last few months, our caravan, following a star. Or a conjunction of stars. It’s a heavenly anomaly and the way our masters talk about it, we’re dealing with something important. Someone important. We have to reach somewhere in time to see a child.

I don’t understand much of what they talk about, those men of wisdom who drive us onwards, but I did comprehend this. A child who would be a great king. Who’d rule the world with love instead of an iron rod. Who’d create a bridge between mankind and God, a bridge that would never be lost beneath the sea and ice.

And so we journey westwards. Although not as far west as where the camels came from.