Nadolig

I am Nadolig, the pied cat.
Many years ago when She came to live here there was a cat. Black as the night when the moon is gone he was. Dafydd his name. He lived with Glyn, the two together, in peace of summer and winter and every day the two would walk the village bounds, morning, evening. In his pockets Glyn had crumbs of cheese and bread and apple and he would feed the birds, so that She would know when we were beating the bounds by the flock in the air that followed. Sometimes She would sit a while and they would talk.
Daffyd died, many years ago, hit by a careless car on the lane that leads to the village.
Soon after Ebril arived, for the world of cat knows when there is someone lonely, needing company. Wild lethario, Ebril would wander and court the lady cats at Upper Porth Mawr farm, driving Peggy mad with his late night songs of love. But he would always come back to Glyn. Until the day he died also, and then I was sent.
Some say Ebril was Daffyd's child. Some say I am Ebril's. Only we cats know the truth of this.

So now I am the cat of Treleddyd. But I am alone. Glyn has gone away again, for the cold can be a bitter enemy for the old. We sat together for most of the winter but when the coldest snap came it did bite hard and deep.
She comes and feeds me. She tells me that Glyn is warm, safe, but will be away for some while yet.
So I wait, watch and keep the house. And with me waits the black cat ghost of Daffyd.