In the run up to Christmas my good friend, Mr Tibbs (@MrTibbsatAP or facebook.com/mrtibbsatAP) asked me for a bit of news about what it’s like being Santa’s cat at this time of year.
Before I go on though, I’d like to take a minute to wish Tibbsy a very meowy Christmas and a purrrrfect new year.
See you soon on Twitter old pal.
And now, here’s the latest on life at the North Pole from Santa’s Cat…
Christmas, Christmas, Christmas! I’ve had enough of Christmas. All the elves are running around, too busy to fuss me and give me my usual treats. There are presents everywhere, in the living room in the kitchen, in the hall and even on my favourite chair. As for the man himself, he’s so jolly it would test the patience of a Christmas angel. If I have to endure one more “Ho Ho Ho” disturbing my afternoon nap I shall be forced to move in with the reindeer.
Apologies to all who were looking forward to hearing a heart warming tale of life at Christmas House but you don’t have to live here. There are hundreds of fairies buzzing past all the time like a plague of mosquitoes, leaving clouds of fairy dust in their wake. There’s nothing like fairy dust for making you sneeze. It’s worse than hay fever! Then, there’s the continual noise of the reindeer. At this time of year, they spend their days practising landing on the roof. It makes a terrible racket – enough to drive a snoozing cat crazy. We cats need our sleep, humans and fairy folk should know better.
Outside it’s every bit as bad. The elves are forever building snowmen – and snowomen – who promptly come to life and dance around the garden until dawn. Whenever I set out on my nightly patrol, some dizzy young snowboy asks me to join him in a waltz or a Foxtrot or goodness knows what. I don’t dance. Especially with someone who has sticks instead of arms a carrot for a nose.
The magical creatures who turn up at all hours of the night and day also leave a lot to be desired. They sit in the kitchen nibbling all my favourite food without so much as a by your leave. The ogres are the worst. We get a lot of them at Christmas. They can smell the delicious treats in our larder come lumbering out of the mountains, looking for something to eat. Santa, being such a nice guy, always invites them in and they sit there like gobs of slimy stone wolfing down everything they can get their mitts on. Including my cat
food. Santa says we should all be kind to those less fortunate and I am – I hold open the door when they’re on the way out.
So. I expect you’re wondering why I stay. I mean, a warm, loving, cheerful cat such as myself is welcome anywhere. But there is one reason I remain. It’s the big man himself. He may berate me for licking the butter off his toast and chasing the Christmas fairies, but deep down he truly loves me. How do I know? Well, he takes me off the naughty list every Christmas Eve and in the morning I get a mountain of magical presents. As they always
say, it’s the giving that counts! 😉