The Legend of the Yule Kitty

TEH LEGEND OF TEH YULE KITTEH (a Jólakötturinn folk story, translated and rather unfaithfully adapted for the sensibilities of modern small cats)

Way up norf in Iceland lives teh biggurest kitteh in all teh wurld. Dis kitteh SO BIG dat her cud carry 1…2…manee hoomins on hers back (if she wanted to, wich she DOES NOT). Hers stripey gray fur can has all teh floofy and hers green-rimmed yellow eyes beez glowier dan teh fullurest of moons.

Her can jump across whole mowntins and oshuns and run so fast u no can sees her, but mostely she lieks to sleepies in hers warm playce under a grate volkayno and dream of blood and murder (liek u do).

Dis reely awsum kitteh name Yule Kitteh becuz on Yule Eve her awaykens reddy to hunt. (Yule = wut Iceland kittehs call Catmas.)

Her cud kill ennyfing her want but her iz gud kitteh and hers favrit nom beez bad hoomins wut maeks all teh nice hoomins leave thers kittehs all alone and go workies for teh bad hoomins ALL DAY and denn not even givez dem enuf moneys to buy teh gud kind of stinky wet fuds or ENNY TREETS AT ALL or even warm clothez so dey can covvur up dat furless skin (cuz nobuddy do want see dat, eww).

Wenn Yule Kitteh rizes from hers long sleepies she can has a srsly hungrie! So she stalks teh bad hoomins as dey go rownd in thers fancy noisyboxes to thers fancy partys in thers fancy warm clothez. And denn her POWNCES and snatches dem all up in hers mytee jawz and onlee has to shake dem 1 TIEM till all ded, gud girl.

Denn she peels off thers fancy clothez (cuz dey no gud fur noms) and puts teh clothez in hers bag dat her carries in hers mouf. And denn her noms dem bad hoomins all gone and spits thers bones out behind her (cuz bone splinturs in ur tum = owie, srsly).

Dat amayzing Yule Kitteh run and jump and stalk and pownce and nom hers way rownd teh whole wide wurld until finalllly hers grate hungrie sayted. Denn her take all teh fancy warm clothez and fings in hers bag and give dem to teh gud hoomins so dey can has a warm lap for thers kittehs sleep on and moneys to buy thers kittehs plentee stinky wet fuds and treets.

Wenn her dun wif all dat her can has a srsly tyord, so she go back to hers lair under teh volkayno to curl up for a looooong winters nap. If u stayz up Catmas Eve waiting fur Santy Claws, keep ur earses flicking fur teh sownd of hoomins skreeming and u will know Yule Kitteh beez near. And if ur hoomins finds warm clothez and othr nice fings under teh Catmas Tree u will know dat Yule Kitteh finks u can has gud hoomins wut surve u well all ur days.

TEH END!!!

– Reposted, with permission, from a December 2023 Facebook post by Beverly Marshall Saling

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• First post here: 25 December 2024