A note about The Cuddlywumps Chronicles

This blog is written and maintained by Miss Cuddlywumps, a fluffy-tailed calico cat who is both classically educated and familiar with mysteries. She receives creative input from the Real Cats and clerical assistance from She of Little Talent (old SoLT, a.k.a. Roby Sweet). Comments or complaints should be addressed to Miss C rather than to old SoLt (Ms. Sweet). Ms. Sweet accepts no responsibility for Miss C's opinions.

Friday, December 25, 2015

’Twas the Morning after Christmas

"Where's my Lexus?" asks the cat who did not
receive her top requested Christmas gift.
Photo © Isselee | Dreamstime.com -
European Shorthair, 11 Years Old, Sitting Photo

’Twas the morning after Christmas, when all through the house,
all the creatures were stirring, including the mouse…
and one extremely disappointed fictional cat who did not receive the new Lexus RX 350 she had very specifically requested,
in writing, from this so-called Saint Nick who is in reality nothing but a liar in a bad suit.

The stockings were empty, they’d never been hung,
’cause She of Little Talent hadn’t a clue how it was done.
So old SoLT did not receive any new talent for Christmas (yet another thing the cat had requested specifically, in writing),
which was even more disappointing to the cat than her continuing lack of a Lexus, and let me tell you, that is some kind of disappointing.

The sad cat was nestled all snug in her bed,
just sulking,
no more need be said.

While old SoLT was happy in that dumb hat she likes,
and continued to play Christmas music,
so the Lexus-less cat felt compelled to start a big fight,
because really, what’s Christmas without a fight?

The cat first hissed, and then scratched, and then climbed the fir tree,
and old SoLT grabbed her and shut her in the bathroom for a timeout times three.
Thus proving that life is unfair and Christmas is unjust and that Santa so-called Claus can refuse to lift even his little finger to help out a cat whose one basic need is a luxury car,
and the poor little cat’s complaints will be ignored as she sulks in the sink, which is not even totally dry the way she prefers it to be.

When Christmas is just too disappointing,
take a time out in your local sink.
Also, old SoLT totally messed up the cat’s post-Christmas poem,
which might have been completely different if only she’d hung up that one stocking so Santa could pour some little bit of talent into it,
not that he would actually do that,
since he tends to bring cheap catnip toys when what you really need is a car.

Eventually the poor cat was released from her prison,
and she chased the new toy old SoLT threw across her vision,
running and jumping, her tail all a-swish,
feigning happiness while plotting her next Christmas Eve wish (a.k.a. revenge).

So Merry Christmas indeed, Saint so-called Nick.
And to all a happier Christmas than mine.

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