Tuesday, June 06, 2006
I hate Christmas. I hate anything that disrupts my normally quiet life - who wouldn't? I know some cats get over-excited about turkey, gravy, roast potatoes and even (for one demented beast) lard, but with all the great cat food around, who cares? I've never been one to beg at the table - well, not often - and what else is there about Christmas that could possibly interest a cat?
Sometimes my humans buy me presents.
I wish they wouldn't. If you want to give me something, JUST GIVE IT TO ME! Don't make such a FUSS! Actually, some of my presents have been quite good, like can covers or toys, or the bean bag Mum made for me - only she spoilt it by sitting next to it one day and I never used it again. That was on Boxing Day, I think. But the point is, if you want to get me something nice to show you love me, fine, just don't wrap it up and then make me watch you unwrap it. It's pointless and I find it unnerving.
Toodle-pip! (Mum and I have been listening to the wonderful Ian Carmichael in the adaptations of the Lord Peter Wimsey books on BBC Radio7, and it's startin' to rub orf, doncha know? Thank 'ee.)