18 December 2026
Friday. Tonight’s first lady was waving an envelope all the way up my stairs, with a red bow stuck to the corner. Her sister had given it to her early, for Christmas, and inside was me. An hour of me. In my own house.
Margery and I talked it over until the candles burned low. I am a present. People tie bows on me and leave me under trees. That is the nicest thing that has happened to me in a very long time, and I have been here a very long time.
Her little brother wanted to come too, but he is twelve, and the grown-ups said the present only works for people who are fifteen or more. He has to wait. I will put him on my list. I keep a list.
I asked Pudding what he wants for Christmas. He wants a new rocker. Margery wants eyes. I want everyone to stay until the clock runs out, just once. We are all being unreasonable.
— Cathy (please come back)
