You have finished decorating for Christmas. The stockings are hung, the tree is lit, and tinsel is hanging everywhere. You are jovial, ecstatic, and in the Holiday mood.
Let me do the same. I try to sit under the tree and you yell at me.
I bat at the low hanging ornaments. Guess what, you yell at me. If you don't want me to play with the ornaments, don't hang them so low.
I chew on the tinsel. More yelling.
You have taken away my normal spots of exploring with Nutcrackers, Sno-globes, and other various collectibles and Christmas crap. Why do you torture me?
You wonder why I sleep even more this time of year.
You have taken away all my fun. Even the catnip laced toy you give me on Christmas morning won't win me over. My joy is not reliant upon catnip and you laughing at me while I roll around in the leftover Christmas wrapping. I am not your puppet.
I am your pet.
So have your eggnog and your yuletide and your Christmas trees. I'm just going to sleep here. And secretly drink the water from the tree holder while you sleep.
See you in January, jackass.