A (3:54)

Libby imagined it.

A (3:57)

Margarita walking through the house, the gentle jingle announcing her presence. So festive, so cheerful. And practical, too. No more wondering where Margarita was hiding during her alone time. I'll take it, libby said. That evening, Libby couldn't wait. She knew she was supposed to save presents for Christmas morning, but this was different. This was practical. And besides, Margarita wouldn't understand waiting. Anyway. Cats didn't really get calendars.

A (4:38)

She presented the collar to Margarita with ceremony, kneeling beside her on the living room floor. I know it's early, but it's for you. For the holidays, libby said, fastening it carefully around Margarita's neck. The bell jingled softly. Margarita froze. She looked down at the bell, then up at Libby. Then she stood and walked away, moving stiffly, like she was trying not to make a sound. Jingle, jingle, jingle. Every step announced itself. Libby thought it was adorable.

A (5:24)

Margarita's tail was doing that low, twitchy thing it did when she was decidedly not amused.

A (5:33)

The next morning, Libby found Margarita in the corner behind the couch, scratching furiously at the collar with her back paw. Hey, stop that, libby said, scooping her up and readjusting the collar. You just need to get used to it. Margarita gave her a look that clearly said, I will not.

A (5:59)

Throughout the day, the jingle followed Margarita everywhere to her food bowl. Jingle, jingle. To the couch, Jingle, jingle. To the litter box. Jingle, jingle. Even when she tried to groom herself, the bell chimed. With each movement of her head, Libby noticed Margarita seemed different, stiffer, less graceful. But surely she'd adjust, right? Cats adapted to things all the time.

A (6:35)

The next morning, Libby woke to silence. No jingly morning greeting, no soft chiming as Margarita walked across her bed, demanding breakfast.

A (6:49)

She found Margarita in the living room, sitting in a patch of sunlight without her collar. The collar was on the floor behind the couch, the bell glinting innocently in the morning light. How did you Libby picked it up, examining it. The clasp wasn't broken. Margarita had somehow wiggled out of it. Ok, fine. Maybe it was too loose. She fastened it back on, a little tighter this time, snug but not uncomfortable.

A (7:30)

By afternoon, the collar was off again. This time Libby found it under her bed, pushed into the far corner like Margarita had been trying to hide the evidence.

A (7:44)

Margarita. Libby called, finding her cat lounging on the windowsill, looking completely innocent. This isn't funny.

A (7:56)

Margarita blinked slowly, then went back to watching a bird outside.

A (8:02)

Libby put the collar back on again.

A (8:08)

By day three, it had become a game Libby definitely wasn't enjoying. The collar kept appearing in increasingly creative places behind the refrigerator, in the bathroom sink, tucked inside Mom's shoe, once, impossibly on top of the bookshelf, balanced on the edge like Margarita had launched it there.

A (8:37)

She's doing this on purpose, libby said to her mom over dinner. Cats are very particular, her mom replied carefully, in that tone that meant she was trying not to laugh.

A (8:52)

I picked this out for her. It's a gift. She should at least try to wear it. Her mom just raised her eyebrows and took another bite of pasta.

A (9:04)

Libby kept putting the collar back on. Margarita kept taking it off. And somewhere in the back of Libby's mind, a small voice was starting to whisper that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't paying attention to what Margarita was trying to tell her. But she pushed that voice aside. The collar was perfect. Margarita would see that eventually, wouldn't she?

A (9:37)

On day four, Libby decided enough was enough. She found Margarita on the couch and fastened the collar around her neck with one more time. You're wearing this? It's a gift. I picked it out especially for you.

A (9:56)

Margarita looked at her, then sat down and didn't move.

A (10:03)

For five minutes. Libby waited. Margarita remained frozen, staring straight ahead like a furry orange statue. Come on, it's not that bad, libby said. Margarita didn't even blink.

A (10:22)

10 minutes passed, then 15, then 20.

A (10:29)

Margarita sat perfectly still, refusing to make the bell jingle by refusing to move at all. It was the most stubborn thing Libby had ever seen, and Libby herself could be pretty stubborn when she wanted to be.

A (10:48)

Libby sat down on the floor across from her. This is ridiculous. But as she watched, something shifted in her brain. Margarita wasn't being stubborn. She was being herself. Or trying to.

A (11:08)

Libby thought about how Margarita moved without the collar, silent and graceful, stalking dust motes in sunbeams, sneaking into the kitchen when she heard the pizza box open, appearing out of nowhere like a furry ninja, sitting absolutely still while watching birds through the window, her whole body tense with the thrill of the hunt, even though she'd never actually catch anything.

A (11:39)

But with the bell, every movement announced itself. No stalking, no surprise pounces. No silent watching. The bell turned Margarita into something she wasn't.

A (11:59)

I get it, libby said quietly. She thought about her headphones, how she needed them to feel like herself, her painting time, her quiet spaces. How wrong it would feel if someone made her give those up, even if they meant well.

A (12:19)

I was thinking about what I wanted, not what you wanted.

A (12:25)

She reached over and unfastened the collar. Margarita immediately relaxed. She shook herself, stretched, then did a little silent pounce on absolutely nothing. Just because she could.

A (12:44)

The next day, Libby returned the collar to the pet store.

A (12:49)

Her face turned red as she explained that her cat was, um, very particular about things. The clerk smiled. Kindly. Cats usually are. What does your cat actually like? Libby thought about it. Pizza. Sunbeams. Hiding. Being quiet. Being my bestest friend. The clerk laughed. Not exactly giftable things.

A (13:22)

Walking home, Libby turned the question over in her mind. What did Margarita actually want? Not what Libby thought she should want, but what she really wanted.

A (13:37)

Back home, Libby spotted an empty cardboard box her mom had left by the recycling. Margarita loved boxes. She was always climbing into them, sitting in them, hiding in them, even when they were way too small.

A (13:57)

Libby grabbed the box and got to work. She cut a door in one side, making it big enough for Margarita to slip through easily. Then she lined the bottom with her old sweatshirt, the soft gray one Margarita always tried to sleep on. But when Libby wasn't wearing it, she placed the box in Margarita's favorite sunny spot by the window and stepped back.

A (14:27)

It wasn't fancy. It didn't jingle or sparkle. It was just a box with a sweatshirt in it.

A (14:37)

But when Margarita came padding into the room, she stopped. Her ears perked forward. She approached the box slowly, sniffing at the door Libby had cut. Then she pawed at the sweatshirt, testing it. Finally she circled three times and settled in, tucking her paws beneath her.

A (15:03)

Within seconds, she was purring.

A (15:07)

Libby sat at her desk, watching. Better? She asked quietly. Margarita's purr got louder, rumbling like a tiny motor. That was definitely a yes. You're welcome, libby said, smiling as she opened her sketchbook. Some gifts she was learning weren't about what looked good. They were about paying attention to what someone actually needed. Even if that someone was a cat.

A (15:40)

Christmas morning finally arrived with fresh snow covering the front lawn and the smell of cinnamon rolls drifting from the kitchen. Fresh baked cinnamon rolls was their Christmas morning tradition.

A (15:56)

Libby sat cross legged on the living room floor, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbon, opening presents with her mom. New watercolor paints, the expensive kind she'd been wanting. A book about famous artists. Soft headphones that blocked out noise but were comfortable enough to wear for hours. Things that let her be herself.

A (16:25)

From her box by the window, Margarita watched the wrapping paper chaos with mild interest but didn't move. She'd learned that the crinkly paper made too much noise when you pounced on it and the ribbons got tangled around your paws. Better to observe from a safe, quiet distance.

A (16:47)

I think Margarita likes her present best, libby's mom said, nodding toward the box. Libby looked over. Margarita was stretched out in the sunbeam, one paw draped over the edge of the box, looking perfectly content.

A (17:07)

Yeah, libby said. I think she does.

A (17:12)

Later, after the presents were put away and her mom was in the kitchen making hot chocolate, Libby set up her new watercolors at her desk. She was testing the colors on scrap paper when Margarita suddenly appeared beside her. No warning jingle, no announcing footsteps, just suddenly there, like cats do.

A (17:37)

There you are, Libby said, not even startled anymore. This was how Margarita moved, quiet, surprising perfectly herself.

A (17:51)

Margarita head butted Libby's hand, the cat equivalent of I love you, and Libby scratched behind her ears. Merry Christmas, you silent little pizza ninja, she whispered. Margarita purred, then hopped onto the desk, carefully stepping around the watercolors to settle in her favorite spot, right on top of Libby's sketchbook.

A (18:21)

Outside, snow continued to fall in soft, quiet flakes. Inside, a girl and her pizza loving cat sat in comfortable silence. No words needed, no bells necessary.

A (18:43)

And that is the end of our story. Good night, sleep tight.

A (19:04)

Sa.