Legend tells us that on the first Christmas Eve the animals in the stable at Bethlehem were each granted, for a brief while, the gift of human speech so that they might share of themselves with the newborn baby. But few know of the part in this that was played by the cat.

This is because she, in her cat way, waited quietly in the shadows whilst all the other animals went forward to the manger, whispering excitedly to one another in their new voices and stretching to see as they waited their turns.

When the gift sheep spoke of sacrifice, and the donkey of patience and strength and the bearing of great burdens for others, she did not stir.

When the cow, in her mournful but musical voice, talked about the giving of sustenance through the sharing of drink and, in the fullness of time, of flesh, the cat continued to sit by herself, looking on with her yellow eyes.

Even when her friend the dog, who she knew would stand before her and their humans in the very face of death, spoke of comradeship and courage and generous love, she still hung back.

It was only after these and all the other animals had taken their turns, and had returned to their own places and their own voices, and it had grown very late and very quiet, and all others were asleep, even the mother, that she finally padded forward to the baby's side. She leapt up with her infinite grace to the top of a low post, and regarded the sleeping face; for a cat may look, up or down, on anyone ... and in the coming days she would look on three kings.

The baby woke, and looked back at her. She flowed down into the manger, as close as the softest voice and the warmth of fur, and now at last she spoke.

She said, "Thousands of years ago, my people were welcomed into the temples of the Egyptians. We watched and we listened to the priesthood there, and then we went out into the world and into the homes and halls of all manner of other wise women and wise men. What we learned from them is what I now wish to share with you.

"For I see in the depth of my yellow eyes that you will need to seek out such people. You will acquire their wisdom, and you will go on beyond, where few indeed of them have ventured. I cannot give you their thoughts, but I can help you prepare yourself to learn from them. And prepare you must, for in my yellow eyes I see that you will have so little time, to do so much.

"To be ready to know, they say, you must do certain things. They are not complex, but they require much repetition and may yield their benefits only after years of practice.

"Some of the wise say, 'Repeat and repeat a harmonious sound.' If you listen against my side, you may hear my mantra.

"Others again teach, 'Just sit.' Observe me, how completely I do this and with what symmetry and perfection." (Now it must be said here that cats are not afflicted, as are some humans, with false modesty.)

"Yet others instruct, 'You must breathe, and be nothing but your breathing.' I will sit face to face, so that you may feel the gentleness of my breath. My breath will mingle with yours, and your breath will become quiet and be like the universe itself breathing.

"By my example I will teach you these and other simple things. I will be your companion, and in my catness I will be there during the danger of your infancy and amid the distractions of your childhood, until my years are done. No matter the indignities around me, I will be a still center unto myself for you to see, so that you will be reminded to continue to learn.

"And you must begin without delay. Most humans come to wisdom of the spirit only in maturity or even old age, but your destiny begins now. For you, there is no time to lose."

With these words, she stopped. She let go of the gift of human speech. And in the warm, quiet dimness before the Christmas dawn she gathered herself in her most composed posture, closed her eyes, started her most profound purr, and began to teach the child to pray.