In her closet: atop photos and yet another stockpile of colorful zippered containers for whimsy and/or pillows, decorative or otherwise, is a wrapped gift addressed to no one and, given that my mother has been dead for a week, I really can't ask her to whom it's supposed to go.

Further heightening the (tea-cozy) mystery is my mother’s predilection for buying Christmas gifts the January before and half-century birthday gifts when the intended recipient turns 49 if not 48: this could be for anyone at anytime.

And yes, I've opened it: a bunch of cutesy/whimsy - appropriately - cardinals. Apologies for spoilers if you were the intended recipient but know that if this were, indeed, one of my mother’s tea-cozy mysteries, the cat would tell me the answer and all of this would be rendered moot and we would, instead of pondering this mystery, be having scones and drinking tea to celebrate our brilliant detective work while the cat, who cannot drink tea or have scones yet can, apparently, speak, stares daggers.

Alas, the cat isn't talking.