Sandy Claws and the Elves, who were volunteers at the Great Northern Cat Shelter were preparing for their annual run at Christmas, hoping to find good homes for all the cats and kittens at the shelter and to spread joy in the hearts of all those good folks who received them.

Woeful, the elf, was fidgeting and fussing as he did every year, worrying that there just wouldn't be enough homes. The other elves always teased him, calling him "Woeful Awful", because of his propensity for the word, although secretly, some of them were just as concerned about the fate of the kittens, and especially the older cats. This was the last run of the year, and they particularly wanted to start the new year off with a new lease on life for all these homeless pussycats.

"Gremel, did you pack plenty of cat food in the back of the sleigh?"

Gremel grinned. "Yep, Sandy, and I even put in a few toy mice for the kittens."

"Good man--er--Elf, Gremel! Well, just one more litter to go, and we'll be ready to roll. Warmheart, would you bring the Dumpster Kittens out? Be careful the little orange one doesn't escape again."

"Right, Sandy!"

Warmheart skittled back into the shelter for the Dumpster Kittens. These kittens were particular favorites of all the Elves because they had been "Just One Litter" kittens, and the owners had dumped them in a huge trash dumpster when they found that kittens were just too much bother. Fortunately, a worker had heard a tiny mewl just before pushing the button that would have dumped them into the jaws of the garbage truck. He had taken the whole litter to the shelter, and weak and tiny as they were, the fervent, loving care of the volunteers of the shelter had finally turned them around on the road to health.

Now, all seven of them were fat and furry, rambunctious and feisty, although one kitten was still noticeably smaller and more timid than the rest. Sandy had named him Braveheart, in the hopes he'd grow into his name.

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