A quick note: I’ve been off media for a little time, doing other things. I did want to give you a Christmas post, though. I’ll be back to schedule in 2020. C.D.
So, my writer is wanting to put me into that ridiculous Christmas outfit again this year. She used me the last couple of years as her Christmas tree, complete with lights and a stupid red hat. There is NOTHING dignified about that outfit.
I thought it was horrid. Until today.
Today she walks in with an arm full of sweaters and hats. She wanted to dress me in them. This is a bigger insult than the lights and hat. And she calls them “ugly sweaters.” Like I want to be stuffed into a cloth ugly sweater. Besides, it ruins my fur.
I tried to leave but she caught me and put me in a monstrosity that I will never forgive her for. It had kitties, but they were on pizza. Cat pizza. Who the hell thinks of Christmas when they see cats on pizza? The red hats on those kitties don’t catch anyone’s attention until after they’ve wondered if the kitties hocked a hairball on that pizza.
Haha, I now made her squeal and say ‘Ewwwww, Baron!’ Means I win this one…I’ll not have to wear it except for this one picture. Please understand, this was under duress and I am a torture victim, the photo does not lie. Please call Animal Protection to rescue me.
Ok, she says that’s a joke. She thinks it’s a joke but I’m not laughing or purring. See my tail, that means I’m not happy.
Then she picked up the next one. It’s only marginally better than the first hair-ball sweater. This one has another cat and says Santa Paws. I guess it’s better than the one with the dog on it, she told me that it had a German shepherd on it. She knows I hate those dogs, the damned Sheltie dog that Marcus owns is marginally better. Barely.
So she stuffed me in that shirt and plunked another hat on my head. This time it covered both my ears. I tried to convince her it made me deaf but she just slipped into that link we have and told me to “knock it off.”
Then she gets mad that I shook my head hard enough to make it fall off. What? I just did what you told me to do, I knocked it off.
But back on my head it went and then more snapped photos. Makes me wish for the early days of photography where most people didn’t get photos and they were expensive. But no, everyone is walking around with a camera and not only snapping for themselves and family, they share it on the internet. I just know she’s going to put me on her blog.
If you can read this, come rescue me. She thinks I’m a baby doll. It is so horridly wrong to force a beautiful cat to perform like a circus clown. In that outfit I’m not a lion, I’m a clown.
Ok, so I suffered through that indignity and she pulled out one more sweater and hat. No amount of pleading, begging, threatening, hissing, or ignoring her was going to stop her doing this one last torture.
I guess I should be thankful that she bought one that at least wasn’t so ugly. But that hat? Why does she have to always have a hat? Is there some sort of law that Christmas pictures have to have a stupid hat? And this one’s green, with a long tail with a ball.
At least it’s not like that little movie I found where some cat is playing with a ball tied to his hat. I refuse to fall that far into the shame gutter.
Balls. The whole thing is balls. I could make a couple of really crude comments about balls but she’s threatening to smack me on the head again.
Okay, okay, I’ll do it. (clears throat, sounding like I’m hocking up a hairball).
From
Charlayne Elizabeth Denney and the entire Fangs & Halos gang,
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Kwanza, or Blessed Yule, whatever you do for this time of the year.
I know what I’m doing; cruising for little girl kitties. After all, I’m wearing a sweater that says “balls.”
Ok, never mind. Go have fun and say a prayer for a poor abused cat.
I need it.