This holiday stuff is quite enjoyable. The house is filled with the smell of baking sweets and savouries, a new blanket has been unfurled in the lounge, and my humans are staying indoors because of the cold, which means I am spoiled for choice in the lap department.
There are also lots of gaily wrapped gifts under the tree. Sparkling. Shiny. Irresistible!
I used to go absolutely mental whenever I saw shiny ribbons and bows, but the memory of what exactly compelled me to go bonkers for them is fading. I guess I am finally beginning to act my age.
Don't get me wrong--they still entice me, just not like they used to. Unlike years past, I have finally learned to pass the glistening, beckoning ribbons without pouncing on the packages and ripping them to shreds. I'll leave that task to Softie and the British One this year.
This year I have also promised myself that I will not touch the dish of walnuts in the lounge. Even though I adore the sound of them rolling around on the hardwood, I vow not to fish them out and bat them around. I also vow not to chase them beneath the sofa. And I especially vow not to do it between the hours of midnight and 4 a.m. I've been keeping a close eye on the stockings hanging from the fireplace mantle. I know which one is mine, and I know that one day soon it will be filled with lovely tins of food, jingle-bell balls and heavenly catnip. I think I have been a very good boy this year, and as such deserve to have some jars of lovely baby food included in the stocking this year. Also some delicious diced chicken. And strawberry swirl yogurt. In fact, if Santa is going to fill my stocking with goodies, I sincerely hope he forgets about the jingle-bell balls.
Why would I need jingle-bell balls when there is an entire dish of walnuts in the lounge?