We are just about ready for Christmas — and Christmas Eve, which we will spend in the company of our cats.
Here is Wendy, who has just told us that all she wants for Christmas is to be an Only Child:
Sorry, Wendy. Harris is still relentlessly posing for the front of the Christmas card, even though they were printed, signed, and mailed. There's always next year:
Such a soulful little angel. I've taken to calling him Mr. Polarbearpaws because his feet are still much too big for the rest of him.
Toffee is NOT an angel. Look carefully at the photo below. He has just told Wendy and Harris that there is no such thing as Santa Paws.
And where is Possum, the patriarch? Right where he usually is, on his back, thinking deep thoughts and looking magnificent:
I have broken it to him that, once again, there will be no bicycle rickshaw ($10,000) under the tree for him on Christmas morning... even though he was splendidly good all year, and so responsible about shepherding the kittens. But I promised him that, if we ever move out of the city (fat chance) and I get a bicycle, he can ride in my basket if he'll agree to wear a helmet. He can dream about that:
Have a Happy Christmas Eve!