This year is in danger of being remembered for what it took. But woe to us if we forget what 2016 gave.
The measure of a year depends entirely on the scale. For thirteen lucky cats, 2016 was the grandest year of all.
Holidays are terrific, terrible reminders of all the feelings you have ever felt. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you are a cyborg. And you know and I know that you’re as real as life and breath and egg nog.
If you’re a cat, or a three-year-old, you do not mind repetition. Make the feather fly again! Start the Doc McStuffins DVD again!
With apologies to Santa, I’m asking the cats for gifts this year. Besides, I’d rather sit Bucca in my lap than personally sit in a bearded globetrotter’s lap any day.
Far, far be it from me to fat-shame cats. To do that would require (a) that fatness was shameful and (b) that cats were capable of shame.
When we were wee, we were told that good children got Popples and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Theologian Trading Cards.* Bad little imps, on the other hand, got lumps of coal. But the tellers of tales didn’t account for the game-changing gift of Coal.
We interrupt this Gratuitous Cat Photo season to mark the passing of a giant. A tiny, clementine-bright giant: Mango.