Several of my friends and relatives keep sending me photographs of their cats lounging around under their christmas trees. This is cool and this is quaint and this is sweet. Keep 'em comin'.
However, since this has been, physically speaking, the toughest xmas I've experienced, I'm rather grouchy and I would like to be a curmudgeon on the subject of cats under trees.
My family and I went to visit my wife's mom today. This was our only chance to share the holidays with her, so we went to exchange gifts and eat a hearty xmas dinner and generally just hang out at the old home place. My mother-in-law also has a cat, also has a xmas tree, and the cat has claimed his spot beneath said tree.
This is her cat, Smokey, under her tree:
Yes, yes, yes. Smokey is oh-so-bleeding cute under the xmas tree. Indeed.
As any of the folk who frequent this blog will know, and as those of you who know me can attest, I feel that animals have emotions and feelings and personalities and that they are not the automatons that most people are brought up believing of animals. Smokey, too, has a personality.
He's a total fucking asshole.
So, just to add a cat-under-the-tree notation before the holiday. An asshole cat, at that. Smokey, a real bastard.