HAVE YOURSELF A FURRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS

To my amazing girl.

She does not like these interlopers.

This is her home, her turf, her family.

And now the long-haired one is holding someone else. The broad one is rubbing someone else's belly.

It was bad enough when they brought the first little thing into her home last year. It was patchy looking, and it smelled funny. It followed her around for days, crying, wanting to play, maybe looking for its mother. She put up with it though, because the long-haired one made sure to pay lots of attention to her and gave her extra treats.

Minnie even let herself be caught bathing the small thing once or twice. She knew it would ingratiate her with her humans.

Eventually, she and the other cat came to an understanding. Minnie is in charge; there was no doubt about that. But the patchy one was not too bad after all. She slept most of the time anyway.

But these two new ones seem like trouble. This is not their house. They do not belong.

They look alike, but a little different. One black, one gray, both with white paws and white chests and bellies. The black one is quiet, but her eyes are bright with interest, her body lean and lithe, as if she's accustomed to squeezing into tight places. The gray one is broader, more filled out, and she cries. She cries and she hides, unless there's food involved. Then she comes running.

Minnie and the patchy cat exchange a look, come to a mutual understanding.

This cannot be allowed to continue.

Author's note: It's been awhile, but I just finished grad school, so hopefully I'll have a bit more time to write now. Merry Christmas!

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