'Twas the night before Cat-mas and all through MY house, not a creature
was stirring, not even a mouse ... (I ate it).
My kitty stocking was hung by the cat door with care, in hopes that
Santa Claws soon would be there.
The humans were nestled all snug in their beds, while we cats in the
darkness danced on their heads.
Big Owner in his "sleepy's," and me his loyal cat, had just settled down
for a long winter's nap.
When out in the 'hood there arose such a clatter, I sprang to four paws
to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash, shredding curtains and shades, I
ate up the sash.
The street lamp outside shined eerily below, maybe two cats fighting?
Paw-to- paw, blow-by-blow?
No, wait! What my sharp kitty eyes should detect, but a miniature cat
box, and that Devonshire Rex.
A little old driver, all hairy with paws, I knew in an instant it must
be Santa Claws.
More rapid than hair balls his coursers they came, and he howled, he
meowed, he called them by name:
"Now, BOMBAY! Now, BIRMAN! RAGDOLL! And BURMESE! On, PIXIE-BOB! On,
KORAT! On, PERSIAN and SIAMESE!
To the top of the fence! To the top of the tree! My felines are
awaiting, all purring for me!"
As dry heaves that before the wild fur balls fly, when he meets with an
obstacle, they jump to the sky!
So over my shingles the kitties they flew, with the carriage full of cat
morsels, and Santa Claws too.
With a turn of my ear I heard on the roof pole, the scratching and
clawing of each kitty's sole.
I drew in my head and was spinning around, when through the cat door
Santa Claws did bound.
A long hair in fur, of course, from head to foot, and those hairs were
all shiny, well coiffured, nicely put.
A bundle of cat toys he had flung on his back; you'd swear he was
pedigree, just him with his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! His whiskers -- how bold! His cheek
hairs so soft, his nose ... oh, how cold!
He shed not a hair, each strand in its place, the most famous of all of
the proud feline race.
The stump of some cat nip he held tight in his teeth, its aroma
encircling his head like a wreath.
An imposing cat with the biggest belly in history; that shook, when he
laughed, like a bowl full of Friskies.
A grimalkin of breed; a right jolly old cat.
Did I say grimalkin, how could I think that?
A twitch of the whisker and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I
had nothing to dread.
He mewed not a sound, but went straight to his work; filled my stockings
with kitty treats, then turned with a jerk.
And laying a talon aside of his nose, after giving a nod, out the cat
door he goes.
He sprang to his cat box, to his team gave "MEOW!" And away they all
flew, like the wind they did howl.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight, "MEOWY CAT-MAS TO
ALL, AND TO ALL, A GOOD NIGHT!"
Marianne
Hellemose Somali
skatkat@telefona.dk
Some people have lives, -others have cats
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