Thanks to Miss Liberty for this Christmas poem, in the spirit of Clement Clark3 Moore, that cat people can truly understand.
Although I am featuring my ever-delightful Miss Ginger Galore, please visit Miss Liberty's website to see her fun photo and read her poem in its natural habitat!
Twas the Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
The felines were chasing a toy catnip mouse.
The stalking began in the hall and from there
They managed to corner it under a chair.
I attempted to nestle all snug in my bed
But the kitties decided to dance on my head.
An idea it hit me, it came like a clap
And I sent them off chasing a Poland Springs cap.
When out in the kitchen there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away down the hall I flew like a witch
I entered the kitchen and groped for the switch.
The moon on the breast of the white kitchen tile
Gave the luster of mid-day to the cats' chew toy pile.
When what to my wondering eyes did I see?
The remains of my poster of Angelina Jolie.
Without giving much thought or having to check
I knew in a moment it must be Steinbeck.
More rapid than eagles, his paws were such trouble
Adept at turning possessions into piles of rubble.
"You bastard! You monster! You rotten little cat!
I'll skin you alive and make you into a hat!"
To the top of the fridge! To the top of the desk!
The kitties took flight, away from the mess.
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So out to the bedroom the felines they flew
"I'll get you, Millay, and your little son, too."
And then, in a twinkling, I heard in the hall,
The batting and pawing of each toy cat ball.
As I raged in my head, and was turning around,
Down the hallway the fur-beasts then came with a bound.
And they yelled out they still needed something to eat.
But a bowl full of food still sat on the floor
As I'd fed the two monsters a mere hour before.
Their eyes - they were wild! Their tails, how they twitched!
As they rubbed on my ankles and they moaned and they bitched.
Millay's droll little mouth was open like Jaws
And Steinbeck kept batting my knees with his paws.
They wouldn't listen as I explained I'd fed them before
Continuing to howl and to writhe on the floor.
So I got out the Friskies, and I got out the cup,
And gave them more food so they'd shut the f**k up.
At filling his belly — the little fur-jerk.
Millay sniffed at the bowl, then with nose in the air,
Pretended no interest in what she found there.
"Eat the damn food, you rotten little cow!
I hope that you're happy — I'm wide awake now."
The clock, it read four — I thought I would weep.
I turned toward the bedroom, hoping for sleep.
"Merry Christmas, you monsters, with your cold little hearts.
I'm taking a nap - then I'll sell you for parts."
And I heard them exclaim as the two of them fled,
"Merry Christmas, dear human - your gift's under the bed."
—Poem by Miss Liberty