I don't have pets, and the bitterness fuels my dispair.
But when I lived with my family we had several pets, including the above, Pandora. A co-worker of my father's found her hiding in the grill of his car. He couldn't keep her, so dad took her home. By the way, I dare you to find a match for Pandora's expansive floofiness.
She was a Christmas Cat for a few reasons: she was part of our Christmas tradition of putting a bow on our cats' heads and taking a picture of their anguished 'My name is Inigo Montoya. You put a bow on my head. Prepare to die' expressions. Pandora would also loiter around the decorated tree – we knew she did, because we would later see her promanading thoughout the house, plume of a tail held high, trailing tinsel behind her. She also liked to hide, deep beneath the tree and peer out, for all the world as if she was one of her larger relatives, peering through the tall grass of the pampas, looking for something four-legged and meaty.
She is a Christmas Cat for one more reason – I know that many people have their cats carousing throughout the branches of their Christmas trees. So delightful. I mean, I've seen the photos. But I have the above picture in a tiny frame, made into a tree ornament. I always place her on the highest branch – so every year I too have a cat watching me from my Christmas tree.
Happy Christmas, 'Dora.