The cat wasn't even glass. He/she/it was a kiosk-sold plastic trinket meant to appease kids while Ma and Pa power-shopped the mall four days prior to Christmas.

We -- my wife, nephew, niece, daughter Flannery, 3, and I -- had come to Battle Creek for the "Light Zoo": Binder Park Zoo, twinkling for the holidays.

Visions of snow leopards, buffalo snorting steam, hand-feeding reindeer ... were dashed at the unlit and gated entry. Ma and Pa had assumed -- ASS of U and ME -- that the Light Zoo would last forever.

We'd driven two hours, car crammed with soon-to-awaken kiddies expecting fun on a Sunday night in a city strange to us. Joseph and Mary found a manger; we found a mall.

Up and down crowded aisles we traipsed, my runner's instincts crying, "The horror!" at Muzak and manikins, food courts, fountains; the holy artifice and whole premise of a mall and its night acquisitors -- which the children, of course, adored.

There, on a mirror in a booth, stood Billy: a polyurethane, inch-high kitty produced with millions of other faux felines for a couple cents each in China. Flannery fell in love with Billy. The acned kiosk queen asked if I wanted to buy the mirror with him. No. One image and $1.99 were enough for Billy; in fact, too much.

The whole ride home, Flannery clung to Billy. She fell asleep with him while I fretted. Changes at work faced me with unknowns: both exciting, stressful. No time to run and I couldn't sleep, thoughts and fears racing, raging ...

And these were the longest nights of the year.

At dawn Monday I bundled Flannery, still sleeping, in a blanket and tucked Billy in my pocket. I carried both, crunching through the snow, to a pre-warmed car, drove them off to daycare.

I left Flannery with Julie, the daycare woman, and fought the urge to join other children, in footed jammies, zonked on couches while cartoons capered on a big screen with the sound off, and aromas of oatmeal, sweet cream, butter and brown sugar welcomed waking.

Instead steeled myself, steered my mechanical steed toward work, braced myself with battle cries. "We are the champions! No stopping us!" Something poked my thigh. It was Billy.

I was locked on a freeway, with other champions, bound for duty and tuned to radios, cell phones, fantasies. We were gulping coffee and fast food, changing lanes, seeking openings in the rush.

My daughter would not miss Billy. By the time she woke up, she would probably have forgotten him. For the time this would take ...

I pulled off at the nearest exit and turned around.

"She's still sleeping," said Julie as I gave her the plastic cat. TV light shadows danced on the children's faces. I felt I'd awakened from a trance I'd not known I'd been in, and apologized for forgetting.

"Easiest thing in the world to do," Julie said.

I repointed my car toward commerce, once more eager to slay the beast with my toothpick lance. MR