"Jasper and the Deer" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Everyone in the house believed the cat—whose name was Jasper, though he answered to none of it—spent his mornings napping.
Everyone was wrong.
Each morning at precisely the moment the coffee kettle began its first whisper, Jasper climbed onto the red wool blanket on the window seat and assumed his post. From there, he oversaw the world.
This particular Christmas morning was especially important.
Outside the frosted window stood two deer, neatly arranged as if they had practiced. Jasper narrowed his eyes. He had seen this sort of thing before.
“They’re early,” he muttered to himself, tail flicking once. “And unannounced.”
The deer did not move. They stared back with the polite stillness of guests who had rung the doorbell and decided to wait forever.
Jasper shifted his weight, sat taller, and initiated what he considered Phase One of Defense: Intense Observation.
He observed their ears. Their hooves. Their general deer-ness.
Behind him, a lantern glowed warmly. Pine boughs twinkled. A red bow perched above the window like punctuation at the end of a very festive sentence. Jasper approved of the décor—it suggested civilization, order, and snacks.
The deer, however, suggested possibility.
“Look,” Jasper thought, “I don’t mind wildlife. I simply prefer it to remain…wild. Over there.”
One of the deer blinked.
Jasper blinked back, slower.
This was Phase Two: Psychological Dominance.
Nothing happened.
Outside, snow drifted softly. The Christmas tree shimmered faintly beyond the glass. Somewhere in the woods, a cardinal scolded the morning for being too quiet.
Jasper sighed. This was exhausting work.
At last, he settled into Phase Three: Magnanimous Tolerance. He curled his tail around his paws, lifted his chin, and allowed the deer to remain—on a provisional basis.
“Fine,” he conceded silently. “You may admire the lights. But understand this: this window is mine.”
The deer seemed to nod, or at least Jasper chose to interpret it that way.
And so they stood—cat and deer, inside and out—keeping watch over Christmas morning. Guardians of different realms. Silent witnesses to a world that, for just a moment, felt perfectly balanced.
Jasper yawned.
“Committee adjourned,” he decided.
* * * * * * * * * *
This morning feels like that quiet moment before the world fully stirs—the hour when light lingers a little longer, when winter loosens its grip just enough to remind us that change is always underway.
As the days slowly lengthen, may our spirits do the same.
May we find ourselves blooming not all at once, but gently—like light through frost, like warmth returning to the woods.
To those celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or the Winter Solstice, and to those simply greeting another morning: may this season offer peace, laughter, reflection, and small moments of wonder.
May we watch more closely.
Judge less quickly.
And sit, now and then, at our own window—warm, present, and quietly grateful.
However you greet this day, may it greet you kindly in return. ✨
* * * * * * * * * *
“In the stillness of winter, something is always listening.”
~Wylddane
Everyone was wrong.
Each morning at precisely the moment the coffee kettle began its first whisper, Jasper climbed onto the red wool blanket on the window seat and assumed his post. From there, he oversaw the world.
This particular Christmas morning was especially important.
Outside the frosted window stood two deer, neatly arranged as if they had practiced. Jasper narrowed his eyes. He had seen this sort of thing before.
“They’re early,” he muttered to himself, tail flicking once. “And unannounced.”
The deer did not move. They stared back with the polite stillness of guests who had rung the doorbell and decided to wait forever.
Jasper shifted his weight, sat taller, and initiated what he considered Phase One of Defense: Intense Observation.
He observed their ears. Their hooves. Their general deer-ness.
Behind him, a lantern glowed warmly. Pine boughs twinkled. A red bow perched above the window like punctuation at the end of a very festive sentence. Jasper approved of the décor—it suggested civilization, order, and snacks.
The deer, however, suggested possibility.
“Look,” Jasper thought, “I don’t mind wildlife. I simply prefer it to remain…wild. Over there.”
One of the deer blinked.
Jasper blinked back, slower.
This was Phase Two: Psychological Dominance.
Nothing happened.
Outside, snow drifted softly. The Christmas tree shimmered faintly beyond the glass. Somewhere in the woods, a cardinal scolded the morning for being too quiet.
Jasper sighed. This was exhausting work.
At last, he settled into Phase Three: Magnanimous Tolerance. He curled his tail around his paws, lifted his chin, and allowed the deer to remain—on a provisional basis.
“Fine,” he conceded silently. “You may admire the lights. But understand this: this window is mine.”
The deer seemed to nod, or at least Jasper chose to interpret it that way.
And so they stood—cat and deer, inside and out—keeping watch over Christmas morning. Guardians of different realms. Silent witnesses to a world that, for just a moment, felt perfectly balanced.
Jasper yawned.
“Committee adjourned,” he decided.
* * * * * * * * * *
This morning feels like that quiet moment before the world fully stirs—the hour when light lingers a little longer, when winter loosens its grip just enough to remind us that change is always underway.
As the days slowly lengthen, may our spirits do the same.
May we find ourselves blooming not all at once, but gently—like light through frost, like warmth returning to the woods.
To those celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, or the Winter Solstice, and to those simply greeting another morning: may this season offer peace, laughter, reflection, and small moments of wonder.
May we watch more closely.
Judge less quickly.
And sit, now and then, at our own window—warm, present, and quietly grateful.
However you greet this day, may it greet you kindly in return. ✨
* * * * * * * * * *
“In the stillness of winter, something is always listening.”
~Wylddane
RSS Feed