As you probably know, tales of fairies and the like fill Irish folklore. There are two kinds of fairies, the sociable kind and the solitary kind. Leprechauns are of the solitary variety, avoiding contact with humans, other fairies and even other leprechauns. Leprechauns are, of course, superb shoemakers. Being thrifty by nature, they are charged with the task of guarding the fairy treasures. It is said that you can find a leprechaun either by the sound of his shoemaker’s hammer, or at the end of a rainbow guarding his pot of gold.

Hundreds of years ago, my great, great, great Grandfather, Paddy Mac Cool of the Mac Cool Leprechaun clan came to realize there was an easier way for leprechauns to make their way in life. He observed how house cats, for the most part, enjoyed a life of leisure. Since leprechauns can change their shape, he turned himself into a handsome, ginger cat and set about finding an Irish household that would keep him in the fashion he felt was his due.

His search had taken him on a long journey and he was in need of a meal. As his Irish luck would have it, he came upon a young lad tending his sheep. Seeing that the lad was about to eat his lunch, he approached, and in his most charming voice, said, “Good day, to young sir.”

Of course the youngster was surprised to hear a cat speak. To his credit, he did not panic, but replied, “And what is it I can do for you, Mr. Cat?”

“My name is Paddy Mac Cool,” Paddy replied. “I have been on a long journey seeking a proper home, I couldn’t help noticing you were about to have your mid-day meal and I was wondering if you would be so kind as to share it with a weary traveller.”

“You are welcome to be my guest, Paddy Mac Cool. My meal is but a poor one, at best and probably not up to your standards,” said the boy, “however, I would be glad to share it with you.”

They shared the young lad’s meal. When the time came for Paddy to thank his host and be on his way, the shepherd said, “It will be late soon and not safe to travel. My home is humble, but it is dry and warm and you can rest there for the night in safety.”

Paddy saw the wisdom of this and replied, “I am honoured to be the houseguest of such a kind and generous host.”

Together they herded the sheep back to their enclosure and settled them in for the night. To repay the youngster, Paddy sprinkled fairy dust over the sheep in order that they would rest peacefully for the night.

The shepherd’s home turned out to be a tiny cottage; sparse of furnishings save for a table, chair and a rough, wooden bed. It did have a fireplace in which the lad set about making a fire and cooking them another meal. After eating, they settled before the fire and talked.

“You have not told me your name, young sir.” Paddy remarked.

“I have no identity now,” the lad said sadly. “I was kidnapped by Irish raiders from my homeland, and brought here as a slave.”

“I see,” Paddy replied, “Have you not tried to return to your homeland?”
“I have, but they always find me and bring me back,” the lad said, wistfully, with a faraway look, as though he could see an image of his home and family. Then he sighed as he added, “There is no use in my trying.”

After cleaning up the table and fluffing the lone blanket on the cot, he said, “We best be getting some sleep. I must rise early to tend the sheep. You may take my cot for the night. I shall sleep here on the floor.”

Before the lad went to sleep, Paddy saw him kneel before a cross on the wall made of twigs.

“Our Father in heaven,” the boy prayed, “thank you for this beautiful day; for keeping my flock safe; for my food and my shelter, and for bringing me my new friend, Paddy Mac Cool, with whom I have shared this day. May you keep him safe on his journey and may he find that for which he searches. Bless us this night, Father, and all the days of our lives. Amen.”

Although this was by no means the destiny that he had sought, Paddy was so taken by the kindness and generosity of his new found friend that he devised a plan.

The next day when the youngster woke, they were no longer in the cottage, but on a ship bound for Britain. In payment for the lad”s many kindnesses, Paddy Mac Cool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat, with a wave of his magic paw, had brought about the escape that the boy had been unable to accomplish in the past.

The lad returned home, together with his cat. After a prophetic dream, the boy, now grown to manhood, returned to Ireland, not as slave, but as St. Patrick, who is credited with converting Ireland to Christianity. He became the beloved, patron saint of the Emerald Isle. A little know fact is that accompanying St. Patrick everywhere he went was a handsome ginger cat.

St. Patrick died on March 17. So, every year on March 17, in honour of St. Patrick and my great, great, great Grandfather Paddy Mac Cool, Magic Leprechaun Cats everywhere become the most social of fairies. I ask you, knowing what you now know, can you be after separating the Magic Leprechaun Cats from St. Patrick’s Day? I be thinking you cannot. Of all the symbols of this festive holiday, the most recognized is the Magic Leprechaun Cat dressed in green finery, guarding his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

“And why does everyone wear green on St. Patrick’s Day?” you ask. This is the way of it. The Irish believe that Magic Leprechaun Cats remain hidden because they blend so well into the green of the Irish countryside. So, green became associated with all things Irish and especially St. Patrick’s Day.

It was not until after Irish humans, together with Magic Leprechaun Cats, settled in the United States in a city named Boston, and faced serious discrimination, that they decided to be ‘getting their Irish up’, so to speak. Green is the colour of Ireland, so on St. Patrick’s Day everything is green; the beer, the hats, the shamrocks worn in their lapels, their clothes, and in the city of Chicago even the river turns green for the day.

Occasionally, just for the fun of it, Magic Leprechaun Cats like to revert to some of their old, mischievous habits. One favourite St. Patrick’s Day habit is to pinch unsuspecting humans on the behind, when they are not looking. The only remedy for this problem is to wear green. Since wearing green makes Magic Leprechaun Cats invisible, it is believed if you wear green, they cannot see you either.

© Finn McCool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat. All rights reserved.
Illustrations by Cheyenne Booker – All rights reserved

Floyd the Dog has donated Euro – 44.27 (US$ 60.29 UK £39.50) to: “Cause for Paws”, Florida, U.S.A.

First published by www.floydthedog.com

A revered Irish Christmas tradition is the “Candle in the Window”, meant to light the way for the Holy Family and for any poor traveler looking for shelter.

This is the Christmas story of a young Irish girl, named Mary, a tiny Fairy Princess named, Realta, a Magic Leprechaun Kitten named Niall and a very special Candle in the Window.
* * *
Realta hurried through the church yard sheltered in a grove of trees to her home on the Hill of Tara. It was just beginning to snow as she entered the Fairy Underworld through a secret passage at the base of one of the ancient trees. Once through the portal, she was within a beautiful, sunlit glen, full of flowers and a rushing waterfall whose waters filled a deep blue pond. Everywhere, fairies filled the air, only Realta was bound to the earth, for she had no wings.

Soon, she stood before her home, a beautiful crystal palace that sparkled in the sunlight.

“Where have you been, Realta?” her mother, Fairy Queen Oona, asked, as Realta passed the queen’s parlor on her way to her room.

“I have been to the Wishing Steps,” Realta replied. “To wish for wings, so I can fly.”

“It is no use wishing for wings, Realta, they must be earned.”

“Yes, I know, but how shall I earn them?”

“The Fates will provide you a way when you are ready,” Queen Oona replied, lovingly. “It takes a brave heart to earn one’s wings. Perhaps, you should not be so hasty.”

“Do you know what day it is in the Land Above, Mother?” Realta asked.

“It is the day the humans call Christmas Eve. Why do you ask?”

“Fairy Godmother, Solas, has told me that great magic happens at Christmas,” Realta said. “Is it only humans who experience this magic?”

“I’m afraid so, for we do not celebrate the day.”
“I see,” Realta said dejectedly. “May I have your permission to go to the church and watch the Christmas service?”

“Yes, of course.”

In the Land Above, another small child, 5-year-old, Mary McCarty, stood admiring the large white candle on the window ledge. Its base surrounded by a wreath of holly.

“This evening, Mary, you will light the candle,” her Mother, Elisabeth said. “Because your name is Mary, the same as the Mother of the Baby Jesus, it is a special honor for you to light the candle.”

Pointing to the manager scene set beneath the Christmas tree that lacked the figures of the Holy Family, she continued, “The light from the candle is meant to show them the way to shelter, so they will have a place to stay when the Baby Jesus is born.”

“Now, Mary” her mother went on, “You must lie down for your nap; otherwise, you will be too tired to show the Baby Jesus to his home. Come, I will tuck you in.”

Mary could not sleep. She slipped from her bedroom. She could hear her mother singing a Christmas Carol as she prepared the evening meal. Mary stood before the manger scene. Proudly, she thought about how lighting the candle would bring the Holy Family safely home.

Suddenly, Mary felt a draft. She turned to the front door and saw that it had been left open a wee bit. She also saw a tiny, white kitten poke its head inside and look around.

“Kitten!” shouted a delighted Mary to her Mother. The call was lost in the din of clanking pots and her Mother’s singing. Mary ran to the door but in doing so scared the kitten. It ran across the yard and into the woods.

“Kitten, come back!” Mary called, and without thinking, ran out the door and into the woods. Soon, Mary was lost.

Realta emerged from the Land Below into a winter wonderland. The snow now covered the ground. Light as a feather, she was able to walk on its surface without leaving a single footprint. As she came around an old tree stump, she was knocked down by a bundle of white fur rushing through the woods. She picked herself up and came face to face with a white kitten with enormous blue eyes.

Frightened, she begged, “Oh, please don’t eat me, kitten!”

Instead of attacking her, the kitten, seeing she wore a crown on her head, replied, “I would never do that Fairy Princess. My deepest apologies, I hope you are not hurt.”
“My name is Realta and I am not hurt, thank you,” Realta replied. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“My name is Niall, the Magic Leprechaun Kitten. I have done a terrible thing,” Niall said woefully. “I was to go to the McCarty home and endear myself to the young girl, Mary, so she would take me in and give me a home. It’s what we Magic Leprechaun Cats do.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Realta asked.

“When Mary saw me, her cries of delight scared me and I ran off into the woods.” Niall paused, and then added, “Unfortunately, Mary followed me and now she is lost. I fear she will not be found in time.”

“We must hurry and save her, Niall,” Realta declared. “But, as you can see, I have no wings to fly.”

“Hop onto my back and I will carry you,” Niall said.

Realta climbed onto the Niall’s back. Holding onto his furry ruff, she rode him to where he had left Mary. She was nowhere in sight. Now, it was dark. How would they find her?

“Listen,” Niall said. A whimpering cry was coming from just over a small hill. Quickly, he carried them towards the sound. There, huddled under a tree, was Mary. Cautiously, they approached.

Through her tears, Mary thought she saw the white kitten and on its back, a fairy. She’d heard stories of the little people, but they were just stories, she’d been told, not real.

“Please don’t be afraid, Mary” Realta said, softly. “Niall, the Magic Leprechaun Kitten, is sorry he got you lost. We’ve come to help you.”

“I’m so cold,” Mary cried. “I want to go to sleep.”

“No! Mary! You mustn’t go to sleep,” Realta said, urgently, as she jumped from Niall’s back and ran to the stricken child.

Just then, a terrible wailing came from deep in the woods.

“It is the White Lady and the Banshees; they’ve come for the child’s soul.” Realta said the fright evident in her voice. “How can we stop them, we are so small?”

“I will stop them,” Niall said.

As a white mist in the shape of a woman, surrounded by wailing beasts, floated toward them, Niall said, “Realta, stay with Mary.”
Niall is Gaelic for knight, a champion, and so he would be, for a Magic Leprechaun Cat has the power to change his appearance and in the blink of an eye, the kitten became a knight in shining armor with a magic sword powerful enough to send the evil spirits back from where they came. With one swipe of Niall’s magic sword, the evil spirits were gone.

Just then, they could hear people calling Mary’s name. But, they were headed in the wrong direction.

“Oh, if only I could fly,” said Realta, “I could lead them by my fairy light to Mary.”

It was then she heard the voice of her Fairy Godmother, Solas, “You have been brave in the face of great danger, Realta, fly and save the child for I grant you your wings.”

There appeared on Realta’s back a pair of shimmering, gossamer wings.

“Go, Realta, I will stay with Mary and keep her warm,” Niall said, once more a furry white kitten.

And so, Realta flew swiftly through the darkness.

“They must believe in the power of my fairy light to lead them to Mary,” Realta thought silently

“Look there!” Mary’s mother called to her husband, Michael. “I see a fairy light. We must follow it!”

Realta’s light retreated back into the woods, followed by Mary’s parents. As they crossed over the crest of the hill, they heard a kitten mewing loudly. Then, by the light of their lantern, they saw Mary, the white kitten cuddled close to keep her warm. The fairy light was gone.

Mary’s Father carried her home wrapped in warm blankets, the kitten in Mary’s arms.

Magically, Mary had survived without any ill effects, save for a wild story of a Fairy Princess name Realta and a Magic Leprechaun Kitten named Niall.

Once home and with her Mother’s hand to steady hers, Mary lit the candle. Christmas Day the manger would be home to the Holy Family led to the McCarty house by Mary’s candle in the window.

©Finn McCool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat, 2009
Illustrations by Cheyenne Booker – All rights reserved
First published by www.floydthedog.com

* * *

Kevin Kirkpatrick limped his way up the lane to the farmhouse he called home. Halfway down the lane, his lame leg gave way pitching him to the ground. Hearing voices approaching, he hurried to right himself, but before he could muster the strength to stand his stepbrothers Liam and Peter came around the corner running and laughing.

“Oh,” said Liam, “now look what we have here. If it isn’t our dear stepbrother, Kevin, flat on his face again.”

“He is a clumsy one, is he not, Liam?” Peter said.

“He is indeed,” Liam replied. “Up with you, man, there are chores to be done.”

Without offering to help Kevin, the two ran off laughing as they went.

Fate had dealt Kevin a bit of a raw deal. His mother had died while giving birth to him. A lack of oxygen to his brain at birth had caused Kevin to be born with certain abnormalities; among them was the inability to balance himself correctly resulting in his falling, one such fall resulting in a broken hip, which accounted for his lameness.

Though his physical capabilities were limited, Kevin had a sharp mind and a good heart, especially to others that were looked down on, as he was, intervening at risk to himself when bullies would try to intimidate them and where animals at risk were concerned.

Kevin struggled to right himself. As he rose from the ground, a blast of cold October wind caused him to pull his wool coat tight around him. Soon it would be Shamhna, the Celtic festival that celebrated the end of the months of light, summer, and the beginning of the dark days of winter. It was a time, he had been told, when the line between earth and the spirit world became very thin and spirits walked the earth once more. Evil spirits, which were the reason people dressed in costumes to disguise themselves hoping to chase the evil spirits away. Like all Irishmen, Kevin had a healthy respect for the spirit world and its inhabitants. Though he had never seen them, rumor was the woods around his farm at the edge of the Hill of Tara were full of spirits.

He laughed a bit at this thought and checked around him for any wee folk that might be having a laugh on him. There were none that he could see, so he made his way slowly to the farmhouse, stopping to stroke the nose of Petal, their cow, who always waited for his arrival home.

“Quit your dallying, lad,” his father, Arthur, shouted from the barn door. “Chores need doing.

‘Yes, father, “Kevin replied, “I’ll be out as soon as I put up my books.”

Kevin’s father had remarried soon after his mother’s death. The object of which was not love, but to have someone to take care of his abnormal child. Knowing this was the case, there was no love lost between Kevin and his stepmother, Margaret, who found Kevin’s disabilities shameful, saying they were a curse upon him.

From his earliest years, Kevin suffered her indifference and cruelty. His father, lost in his own world fueled by a love of the drink, paid him little mind and offered no relief from Kevin’s sad, lonely life. While his stepbrothers were treated as princes, Kevin was treated as their servant.

Soon he would graduate. A brilliant student he hoped to become a teacher some day. But, that would require a higher education that he would not be entitled to under the circumstances.

As Kevin entered the house he heard his stepmother and stepbrothers talking excitedly.

“’Tis exciting, indeed it is,” Margaret said, holding a parchment invitation in her hand. “The king has invited all the young, eligible men of the county to a Halloween Costume Ball held in honor of his daughter, Catherine, who is home from school. It is hoped she will find someone to marry among the eligible bachelors.

“Of course, we know it will be one of you she chooses…” and they all laughed in glee at the prospect of one of them becoming Prince of the Realm.

Kevin sighed, placed his books on his night table and went out the back door to the stable. Given his inability to walk normally, it was for sure a dance was not in his future, nor was being a prince of anything but the stable yard.

“About time you showed up,” his father said. “Two of the sheep got out and I need you to be finding them. Be quick about it.”

Kevin headed into the woods bordering the farm. He called to the sheep, which he had raised from lambs and who knew his voice.

As he approached the stream, he heard a scream and something thrashing in the water. He hurried as best he could to the edge of the water. There stood a horse and from the water came shouts of help from what appeared to be a young woman.

Though he was clumsy on land, Kevin could swim effortlessly. He quickly removed his shoes and heavy jacket, dove into the icy waters and swam to the young women, who was about to pass out and drown. Quickly, he got her to shore, where he wrapped her in his coat.

For just a moment he caught a glimpse of her beautiful face.

Suddenly, out of the woods, the king’s soldiers appeared mounted on their horses.

“What is this?” said the soldier in charge, as he dismounted from his horse and ran to the young girl’s side.

“I am not sure,” Kevin replied. “I heard her cry for help and found her in the stream. Since you are here to care for her, I must go.”

Before, they could say more, Kevin put on his shoes and started to leave.

“Who are you?” the soldier asked as Kevin retreated into the woods.

“I am nobody.” was Kevin’s reply and he was gone.

In spite of the cold, but afraid to go home without the sheep, Kevin searched on calling as he went. He found them a short way up the hill and herded them into their shelter, then finished his chores and snuck into the house, not wanting to have to answer for his wet clothes or his missing coat.

The next couple of weeks the only talk in the house was of the Halloween Ball.

For Kevin nothing changed. Word had gotten round that Princess Catherine had been thrown from her horse trying to cross the stream and been rescued by a young man that no one seemed to know.

So, now, at least, he knew the beautiful girl’s name.

Soon, Shamhna was upon them. Kevin stepbrothers, dressed in the finest attire their father could purchase for them, set off for the castle and the Halloween Ball., their mother at their side.

For Kevin, it would be another evening doing chores and then early to bed.

As he finished his chores, he heard a strange melodious sound coming from the woods. It was already dark, so he took a torch and lit it. Cautiously, he entered the woods.

Once inside the woods, the darkness closed in on him, but the sound persisted, now coming from the direction of the stream. Soon, he was at the spot where he had rescued the princess.

There, sitting on the bank, was a golden, ginger cat playing a flute. He was dressed in a green suit much like the locals described leprechauns as wearing with a hat to match.

“Ah, good sir,” he heard the cat say as he stood at the edge of the woods. “I see you like my music and have come to hear me play my song.”

When Kevin did not come forward, the cat said, “Is it not Shamhna that we celebrate this fine eve?”

When Kevin again did not respond, the cat said with a laugh, “Cat got your tongue, lad?

“Not to worry,” the cat continued. “I am not an evil sprit roaming the night. I am Seamus Mac Cool, Magic Leprechaun Cat, at your service, fine sir.” And the cat rose and bowed to the young man.

“What is it you want, Sir Seamus?” Kevin asked.

“I want for nothing,” Seamus replied. “Tonight is the night for guising (trick or treating). There is someone waiting to give you your guise. Please follow me.”

The cat moved off, but Kevin did not follow, for suddenly there were strange sounds coming from the direction the cat was headed…scary sounds.

“Do not be afraid, though evil spirits lurk, my magic will protect you…come, follow me.

“If you had one wish, my lad, what would it be?” the cat asked as they walked.

Silence followed.

Then, Kevin replied, “If I had one wish…I would like to know my mother.”

“You would not wish to be cured, or rich, or famous?” the cat asked.

“No, they mean nothing. It is to my mother I owe my life. She gave hers for me. It is she that means everything to me.” Kevin said, curious why the cat would ask.

Soon they came upon a clearing. It was lit by the moon, the heavens full of stars. A shimmering pond sat in its midst. The night air was filled with a flowery fragrance and tiny lights flittered though the air. From out of the woods emerged a white horse. It wore the most beautiful gold saddle and bridle. On its back sat a beautiful woman. Her hair was long and golden like the sun, her skin fair. Her eyes were blue as the summer sky. She wore a gossamer gown and was bathed in light.

“Go to the lady, Kevin, for she is an angel and your mother.”

Kevin voice was filled with anger. “It cannot be! You are fooling me, for she is dead.”

“Tonight, Kevin, the line between earth and heaven is thin. Spirits, not just evil ones, but heavenly ones also, may cross,” said the cat. “I am not in the business of fooling those for whom I am charged with their care. For too long I have watched you live in silent agony, never complaining. But, Fate has seen fit to change your lot in life and it is your mother’s spirit that shall bring it about…go to her, Kevin.

“Come, Kevin, though I am no longer with you in life, I am forever with you in spirit.” the beautiful woman said as she came to him and embraced him. Her love for him flowed through him and he felt something he had never felt in his life…whole again.

When she stepped away he was changed forever. The once awkward body was strong, his legs no longer weak beneath him, his dress that of a prince.

“Tonight, Kevin, you will ride this fine horse to the king’s castle” she said with love in her voice. “You will win the heart of the princess and you will become the kind, benevolent ruler of this land for that is your destiny”.

Kevin mounted the horse and was carried swiftly to the castle’s gate.

“Who is this approaching the castle,” said the guard.

“I do not know, “

But, without hesitation, they let him enter.

There was silence in the ballroom as Kevin made his entrance. The dancing had not yet begun.

Kevin crossed the ballroom floor unimpeded. He stopped before the throne where the king, queen and Catherine sat. At Catherine’s feet sat Seamus Mac Cool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat. He gave Kevin an encouraging smile.

Bowing to the king, Kevin said, “May I have the honor of the first dance with your lovely daughter?”

“And, who might you be, young sir,” the king asked, “that you may be so bold as to ask to dance with my daughter?”

“I am Kevin Kirkpatrick, your majesty, a simple farm boy masquerading as a prince”.

In the king’s heart a voice spoke and the king said, “Then, it is my honor, Sir Kevin, that you should have the first dance with my beloved daughter, Catherine.”

Catherine smiled. Before she rose, she reached to the table next to her throne. From off it she took a worn, woolen coat.

Standing she beckoned him to come to her. Handing him the coat, she said. “I believe this is yours, brave sir. I am forever in your debt for saving my life. For a moment, that day, my eyes opened and I saw your handsome face. I have loved you from that very moment, my prince.

© Finn McCool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat. All rights reserved.
First published by www.floydthedog.com

However, St. Patrick is not the only symbol of Ireland. A less celebrated symbol, but no less known, is the Blarney Stone. An ancient bluestone, with a storied history that dates back to Moses, as it was the stone, some say, he supposedly struck to produce water for the Israelites during their flight from Egypt. And until this very day, it is said to possess the power to instill in those who kiss it the gift of Eloquent Speech. So, you’ll never be guilty of a loss for words.

As you probably know, we leprechauns are famous for our “Eloquent Speech”, so much so, that it has been claimed we are responsible for talking normally sane people out of the pots of gold we are guarding and they are finding at the end of rainbows. Now, I say to you, that in itself takes some eloquence, it does, indeed.

But if the truth be known, the real legend of the Blarney Stone begins with my great, great, great Uncle Blarney MacCool, a first generation Magic Leprechaun Cat.

Now, it is widely known, that leprechauns, though mostly known for their appearance as wizen, little brown men in shoemaker attire, can and do change their form to suit their needs.

And so it was, the MacCool Clan came to see the advantages of appearing to be clever, friendly, eloquent cats, who only chose to live in the lap of luxury. Handsome in appearance, they charmed all the humans they met into providing the best of everything in return for their witty conversations and magical charms.

It came to be, that my Uncle Blarney was on his way to a magical place called Rock Close. A place where nature’s own art exceeds anything man could devise, and wherein lived the MacCarthy Clan of fairies, close relatives of the MacCool Clan, though still in traditional fairy form. He was making the journey from our home in Tara for an important meeting of the minds – fairy minds, that is.

As Uncle Blarney was making his way down some stone steps, known today as the Wishing Steps, he was wishing someone would show up with some lunch, as he was mighty hungry.

Low and behold, there at the bottom of the steps, sitting on a rustic couch of rocks, covered in moss and ivy, was none other than the famous Irish Fianna warrior and hunter, and my very own namesake, Fionn (Finn) Mac Cumhaill (McCool).

Finn was about to partake of a lunch made of what later came to be known as the Salmon of Knowledge. The story goes that there was this hazelnut tree over this pond in which the salmon swam. If the salmon swallowed one of the hazelnuts as it was falling from the tree, and a Druid (an ancient Celtic priest) caught the salmon before he got back into the water, then the first to eat of the flesh of the salmon would acquire great wisdom and knowledge.

Working his usual charm, my Uncle Blarney, convinced Finn to share his lunch. As the luck of the Irish would have it, my Uncle Blarney and Finn tasted the salmon at the same time.

To his surprise, my Uncle Blarney now felt full of wisdom and inspiration. He thanked Finn for the lunch and went about his business.

Soon, my Uncle Blarney came across the likes of the great Irish warrior and King of Munster, Cormac MacCarthy.

MacCarthy was turning an old hunting lodge into one of the most awesome castles in all of Ireland. So entranced with my Uncle Blarney’s newfound wisdom and inspiration was he, that he invited Uncle Blarney to come and live in the new castle and to be his trusted advisor.

MacCarthy Clan members came and went, but Uncle Blarney, being a Magic Leprechaun Cat and being immortal, and all, lived on.

In time, the MacCarthy holdings came to be owed by Dermot MacCarthy. It was his sad fate to have upset the British Queen, Elizabeth the First, who then commanded the Earl of Leicester to take possession of the castle.

Each time the Earl would appear to take possession, Dermot would send Uncle Blarney to negotiate the matter. Having had the gifts of wisdom and inspiration and all the knowledge of the world at his paw tips, Uncle Blarney was always able to employ logical delaying tactics to fend off the threatened taking of the castle.

Good Queen Bess was so irritated by the reports and excuses that she got from the Earl that she cried out, “It’s Blarney, Blarney, all Blarney!”

Eventually the matter was dropped, and the Earl was called back to England.

In gratitude for saving the castle, Dermot MacCarthy renamed the castle for Uncle Blarney. And so, my friends, Blarney Castle was born.

But that’s not the whole of the story, for Dermot was so taken with Uncle Blarney’s “Gift of Gab” that he asked my uncle to kiss the piece of bluestone Cormac MacCarthy received from King Robert the Bruce of Scotland in the year 1314 A.D. at the battle of Bannockburn, so as to pass the gift of Blarney on to generations to come, thus it became the Blarney Stone.

I hasten to say, that though this is a fine tale, indeed, should you be falling for my Blarney, then I am thinking you’ve fallen victim to too much “Green Beer,” as well.

Best you all be wearing of the green, for today I am wishing you a Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Finn McCool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat – Copyright 2009

In my homeland of Ireland, where Gaelic is the old language, Christmas is a very special time of the year. It is a magical season, full of sparkle and wonder, like the beautifully decorated trees and homes, festive parties, the anticipation of receiving those long desired gifts, soon to appear in the sack at the back of the bed, rather then under the tree (that’s an Irish tradition,) It is the time of year when people make magic happen, through the love they show to others and their generosity, both of spirit and of giving. Above all, for the Irish, it is what the day is all about, the joy of welcoming the Baby Jesus into our world.

Dreams come true at Christmas. Here is the story of one such dream.

* * *

“If you could have one wish for Christmas Emily what would it be?” Thomas Harding asked his young daughter.

He got no reply from the small, dark-haired child looking wistfully out her bedroom window, for Emily did not speak. It was not that she could not speak, but rather that she chose, since her mother’s passing, to lead a silent, speechless life.

“Father Christmas is eager to know what you would like,” Thomas continued, in spite of a lack of reply. “Tomorrow is Christmas and you have been very good this year. Perhaps, he will bring you something special.”

No amount of wishing could possibly bring me what I really want, Emily thought. No amount of wishing can bring back my lovely, sweet Mum.

Not wanting to be rude to the Father she loved Emily got up from her chair, and going to him, wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug.

The moment was interrupted by Margaret, the housekeeper’s, knock on the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Harding,” She said through the door, “but, Mr. O’Leary has arrived and is waiting in the library. I have put the day’s mail on your desk.”

“Thank you Margaret,” Thomas replied, “tell Mr. O’Leary I shall be with him in a moment.

“Come with me, Emily,” Thomas said, extending his hand. “Mr. O’Leary will be very pleased to see you.”

Emily hung back. Though it was her choice not to speak, it no less embarrassed her to be around people and be silent.

“No need to speak to Mr. O’Leary, Emily,” Thomas said gently, “you know that he understands. One of your beautiful smiles will do nicely. Come, perhaps there is some mail for you.”

The thought of a letter from her Mum’s sister, Aunt Beatrice, who lived in France, or her old schoolmate, Abigail, whose family had recently moved to America, convinced Emily to accompany her father.

“Ah, sweet, Emily, come and greet a crotchety, old man,” the jovial Irishman, O’Leary exclaimed, as Thomas and Emily entered the library. “It is one of your sweet smiles I be hoping to see to set me day right.”

A smile spread across Emily’s face. She loved O’Leary, who was an old friend of her family. Having no family of his own, he often spent Christmas with the Hardings. She especially loved his Irish brogue, the twinkle in his eyes, and the lilting sound of his laughter. A stout man, with a full head of white hair and a beard to match, she had thought many times how he resembled the pictures of Father Christmas.

“How are you Nicholas,” Thomas said in greeting as he extended his hand. “I was just trying to get Emily to give me a hint of what it is she might like Father Christmas to bring her this year. But, she is keeping it to herself. So, he will have to learn the secret wish from her heart.”

“Ah. And so he shall. Will he not, Emily?” O’Leary said to the smiling child, “Just as he always has.”

It was true, Emily thought, no matter what she had wished for at Christmas, since she had gone silent, it had always come true. Could this year’s wish come true…only in my dreams, she was sure.

“Well, what have we here, Emily,” Thomas said, as he sorted through the mail. “It appears you have received a Christmas card.”

Eagerly, Emily took the card from her Father’s outstretched hand, and to the far end of the room where she curled up in a chair next to the fireplace to examine her prize.

It was addressed to Miss Emily Harding. The return address did not have a name, but indicated it was from 1 Catnip Lane, Puss-in-the Willows, County Meath, Ireland.

Printed on the card, and framed in gold was the picture of a golden, ginger kitten with emerald green eyes and a red Christmas bow around his neck. He was sitting in front of a beautifully decorated Christmas tree with a shining crystal star on top, his paw raised as if in greeting. Emily was sure she could see a smile on its face.

Inside, the card read.

It was signed, Callaghan Mac Cool.

As Emily closed the card, she noticed that the kitten, which had previously been facing to the right of the card, was now facing to the left. I must have seen it wrong when I opened it, she thought.

Believe in the Magic of Christmas, she repeated to herself, and your wish will come true. Oh, how she wished it were true. But, Emily was old enough to know that a wish like hers could never come true, no matter how much she would like to believe it could be so.

“Mr. Harding.” Emily heard Margaret saying from the doorway of the library. The Christmas tree has been set up in the parlor.”

Emily, Thomas and O’Leary retired to the parlor to decorate the tree. The crystal star Emily’s Mum had purchased on a trip to Waterford, Ireland, and which Emily loved best of the ornaments, sat atop the tree. It reflected the light from the fireplace and the colored lights on the tree, every facet of its dazzling, cut crystal sparkled and shined.

As she looked up at the shining star, she heard a small voice inside her say, “Believe Emily, believe.”

Their work done, they enjoyed a cup of hot cocoa in front of the fireplace and admired the tree.

“I do believe it is the prettiest tree we have ever had,” Thomas said.

“It is, indeed, but the magic and beauty of it all is in the Irish star,” O’Leary replied, his gaze focusing on Emily. “Don’t you agree, child?”

Emily smiled in agreement. But, as she took in its beauty, she thought of how happy she had been when her Mum had given it to her, and a small tear started down her cheek, and then another.

“Saints, preserve us,” O’Leary said, as he and Thomas rushed to Emily’s side. “It was not my intention to make you sad, child.”

Emily wiped her eyes and smiled. She gave them each a hug and started for her room.

“It’s lonely the child is, Thomas, she be in need of a friend,” O’Leary said.

“And where would I find such a friend…my friend?” Thomas asked.

“You best be leaving that to me,” O’Leary replied.

Sleep came easily to Emily. Somewhere in the night, she began to dream. In her dream, she saw her Christmas tree as the tree in the Christmas card, the star at the top shining brightly. The glow from it seemed to spread and then she heard a voice…a familiar voice.

“Emily…dear Emily, I know how much you miss me,” she heard her Mum’s voice say. “And I also miss you. You must know that I am always with you in spirit, that I will always love you and that you are never alone. Tomorrow is Christmas and it is you that must give a special gift. Tomorrow, you must go to your dear Father, who loves you with all his heart and speak to him. Do this for me Emily… and, I, in turn, have a special present for you.”

Christmas morning arrived. Thomas and O’Leary were already seated before the parlor fireplace when Emily came downstairs. The Christmas tree was lit. Below it were presents wrapped in colorful papers and topped with beautiful bows, the traditional sack at the end of the bed having been abandoned for the modern under tree presentation.

“Good morning, Emily,” Thomas said. “Are you ready to see what Father Christmas brought my sweet girl?”

But, Emily did not rush to the tree. Instead, she came to her Father, took his hand and said, “Happy Christmas, Father, I love you. I will be silent no more.”

“What a wonderful present, Emily,” Thomas said, hugging her close. “Thank you.”

“Ah, and did your Christmas wish come true, Emily,” O’Leary asked, in a way that said he already knew.

‘Yes,” she said, happily “In the most beautiful way.”

O’Leary reached to the floor beside his chair.

“This is for your, Emily,” he said. “A dear friend gave him to me to entrust to your care. His name is Callaghan Mac Cool.”

In his hand, he held a golden, ginger kitten, with emerald green eyes and a red bow around his neck. And, as Emily approached, the kitten held out his paw in greeting and smiled.

©Finn McCool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat, 2009
Illustrations by Cheyenne Booker – All rights reserved
First published by www.floydthedog.com

It has come to my attention that many of you do not know that the tradition of celebrating Halloween originated in Ireland centuries ago. The word Shamhna, Halloween, implies the end of summer, the end of the light and the beginning of the dark winter season. Initially an ancient harvest festival, it also has some elements of the festival of the dead, for the early Celts believed that during the last day of October the border between earth and the underworld became thin, allowing the dead to wander the earth. Thus the need to wear scary costumes, meant to ward off evil spirits. Of all the holidays in Ireland, Halloween is the most magical. And so with great pleasure, as my Halloween treat to you, I offer this tale of my great, great, great uncle, Cormac MacCool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat and the Fairy Coins of Tara.

Cara Kelly’s life could best be described as daunting. An only child, she had to both care for her ailing mother and to help her father in the running of their small farm. The farm lay at the edge of the Hill of Tara, a place of mystery and magic. Cara had roamed Tara in search of the fairy folk she had heard lived there. Despite never seeing any, she still believed they existed. Cara dreamt of them flitting through the dark woods that stood between the farm and the hill.

It was Cara’s joy in life to ride and groom the old, grey horse she had grown up with. Ahearn, whose name means ‘Noble Horse’ was used to tend the fields and take the produce to market. In his youth, Ahearn was indeed magnificent. Cara loved the old horse with all her heart. She admired him for, ancient as he was, he always worked hard at whatever was asked of him, never letting the family down, even when, because of his age, he did not really feel very well. His determination was the inspiration for Cara to persevere.

Cara’s mother, Maureen, had been a professional singer before she had met, fallen in love with, and married Michael Kelly. Cara had inherited her mother’s beautiful voice. Cara’s singing brought great comfort to both of her parents. Ahearn was also appreciative, nodding his head up and down and whinnying in approval whenever Cara finished a song.

It was late October, harvest time, Cara knew by the worried look on her father’s face that all was not well. The next day, she overheard him speaking to another farmer who lived close by. “I doubt the harvest will yield enough for me to keep the farm,” Michael said. “How will I break the news of this to my wife and daughter?”

Cara slept on her worry, wondering what it was she could do to help. She woke early on that last day of October. It was Shamhna, Halloween. The children in the village would be going door to door guising (trick or treating), collecting assorted goodies and coins to enjoy later.

It was the coins that interested Cara. It was her plan to ride into town dressed as a beggar and sing for the occupants of the homes she visited in the hopes they would reward her with coins.

So that her mother would not worry, Cara, told her of her plan. Her mother gestured to the drawer in her night table. In it Cara found a key. Maureen pointed to a trunk in the corner of the room and told Cara to open it. Inside Cara found the most beautiful dress, lying next to it, a newspaper clipping with a picture of her mother in the dress singing on a stage.

Cara kissed her mother, dressed and went to the barn. She bridled Ahearn, mounted him and rode off to town.

Though she received many compliments for her singing, and her bag weighed heavy with the cookies and candies that the townsfolk gave her in return for her songs, there was not one coin to be found.

Disillusioned, Cara mounted Ahearn and headed home. It was late. To save time, she decided to cut through the woods.

She remembered the warnings about the evil beings that were said to wander abroad on Halloween night. To warn them of her coming and sooth their restless spirits, she sang, loud and clear, until she came to a clearing.

Ahearn saw him first and pulled up suddenly, half-rearing in order to stop short. Sitting on a large mushroom, was a golden, ginger cat. He wore a fancy mask and an elegant green and gold cape.

“Welcome, my Lady,” he said, rising and bowing low. “I have been listening to your beautiful song. What brings you to my forest on this of all nights?”

Frightened and alarmed by the cat speaking, Cara could not, at first, respond.

“Fear not, my Lady, for I mean you no harm.” The cat said. “My name is Cormac Mac Cool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you, Sir Cat,” she replied, “We were on our way home and because of the late hour thought to take a short cut through the woods.”

“And did your beautiful voice receive its due when you sang for the townsfolk?” Cormac asked.

Surprised by his knowledge of her reason for being so late, again she remained silent.

“I have been told by the flower fairies that live in your garden, that you sought coins with which to help your family.”

“Fairies! There are fairies in my garden?” Cara asked in surprise.

“Indeed there are,” said Cormac. “They were kind enough to tell me of your plight.

Motioning to the spot before him, he continued, “Would you join me for a minute. Since it is Shamhna, and you are guising, I must give you a treat as a reward for your beautiful song.”

Cara dismounted from Ahearn and walked slowly to where the cat sat. She could see that he was not sitting on an ordinary mushroom, it was a bright red, and sitting on another of the mushrooms next to him was a gold pot filled with coins.

“Hold out your hands, Cara,” Cormac said, and into them he dropped three coins.

“These are not ordinary coins, Cara. These are the Fairy Coins of Tara. Each coin has its own special power and one is the most powerful of all. That is the one that can grant you your deepest desire. You must not tell anyone you have them, or they will disappear. Nor can you wish anyone evil with them. Use them wisely and they can make your dreams come true.”

In a blink of an eye, the cat was gone. Sitting on what was now an ordinary looking mushroom, where once the cat sat, was a purple, velvet bag. Cara picked up the bag. Inside there was a piece of parchment paper. On it was written:

During the days that followed, Cara used two of her wishes. She wished that the harvest would be good, and so it was. She wished that her mother would be cured, and so she was. There was one coin left. The coin Cormac the Magic Leprechaun Cat said could grant her deepest desire.

Cara wanted to become a famous singer, so that she could help her family and do what she loved best for the rest of her life. She took the coin and started out towards the enchanted wood, where she planned to leave the coin along with her last wish.

As she past the barn, she heard thrashing and what sounded like moans. Cara entered the barn and found Ahearn rolling in his stall in great pain. She ran to the barn door and called for her father to come, then ran back to the stall.

“Oh, Ahearn,” she said. “What is wrong?”

It was obvious that Ahearn was in great pain. He thrashed about making it dangerous for Cara to enter the stall. When her father arrived, he quickly diagnosed the problem, “Cara, Ahearn is having a colic attack,” her father said. “Colic is like a very bad stomach ache, but if a horse gets down and rolls as Ahearn has, there is the chance that it might kill him.”

Suddenly, Ahearn stopped thrashing. He lay still, covered in sweat, his breathing labored. Then there was silence.

“Best you leave now, Cara.” Her father said, kindly. “There is nothing more to be done.”

“Yes!” Cara cried as she ran from the barn and toward the woods.

“There is something to be done.”

She ran as fast as she could to the spot she had met with the cat. She placed her last coin on the mushroom. Forgetting her own dreams for the future, she said, “My deepest desire is for my dear friend, Ahearn, to be young and healthy again.”

And she fell to the ground in tears.

“Why do you cry, my Lady?” a familiar voice asked. “Is this not what you wished for?”

Cara raised her head and through eyes blurred by tears, she saw Cormac, the Magic Leprechaun Cat and the young, beautiful, powerful Ahearn, just as Cara remembered him from her childhood.

With a cry of joy, she rose. Ahearn came to her and knelt before her. She climbed aboard his broad, strong back and they headed home.

The next day, there was a knock at the door. Her mother answered it. A few minutes later Maureen called Cara.

“Cara, this is Mr. O’Brian. He used to be director of the theater where I sang. He is now head of the Opera House in Dublin. He heard you sing the other night, but could not get to the door in time to meet you. He is offering you a scholarship to study with him.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cara saw a golden, ginger cat sitting cheekily on one of the best chairs. Cormac, the Magic Leprechaun Cat, gave her a smile and winked knowingly.

©Finn McCool, the Magic Leprechaun Cat, 2010
Illustrations by Cheyenne Booker – All rights reserved

Floyd the Dog has donated 46.99 Euros (US$63.41 UK£40.07) on behalf of Finn McCool to “Cause for Paws”, Florida, U.S.A.

First published by www.floydthedog.com