It’s Christmastime, which means Christmas trees, Yuletide fires and… nativity scenes.
The perennial Christmas favorite, the Nativity scene is the centerpiece of every small town’s Christmas decorations, and towns across America pride themselves on the extravagance of theirs. This is a celebration of the birth of Our Lord Jesus Christ, after all – (or, at the very least, a very pretty decoration, if you’re not into the whole Christian Christmas thing).
But not everybody is impressed by the importance of the Nativity scene. By everybody, of course, we mean cats.
If there’s one Christmas grinch who literally does not give a flying reindeer about your cherished cradle and the Baby Jesus statue inside it, it’s the felis catus, who just views the cradle as yet another offering on its quest to plop its furry posterior on a thousand thrones.
Here are a few of the best examples:
This is Felix. Felix is fat, has luxurious black fur, and is very, very comfortable. Does Felix care that he’s taken Baby Jesus’ spot? Heck, no! In Felix’s eyes, this is his spot. He is master of his domain and everything that he sees.
Also, Baby Jesus can sit allll the way down – according to Felix, that is.
This is Porter, another vision of feline excellence swathed in black fur. Porter has decided he is the backdrop to this miniature Nativity scene. He is the stable that protects Baby Jesus and family – nay, the mountain – soaring above them.
Also, Porter would like some Fancy Feast, lightly warmed.
This right here is what we call a Christmas miracle. Imagine it – you hear a voice in the middle of the night and creep down the stairwells only to find yourself confronted by this golden vision of Christmas glory. It’s a bit fat, furry and pointy eared.. but [it’s] undeniably cute!”
It’s a Christmas elf in cat form, here to snuggle Baby Jesus, and keep that naughty Krampus at bay…
Ok, who are we kidding, it’s a cat, in a miniature Nativity scene, which means it’s undeniably cute!
This Christmas grinch needs no introduction – you already know the type. There he is, patrolling the cathedral pews, ensuring that naughty children are properly genuflecting, and trying his best to make sure the holy water is up to snuff (no tap water on his watch, in this church, it’s the blessed Evian or nothing).
And this whole phony Baby Jesus statue – definitely not good enough to adorn the cradle of his church, no sir. He requires a pure alabaster statue, carved in the forges of Mount Vesuvius and serenaded by a heavenly choir. He requires a–
Nap time! And yes, this cradle looks very comfortable indeed.
Off you go, Baby Jesus. Better luck next time.
What’s this?! A veritable specter of horror peeking into the holy stable!
“I’ll save you,” cries brave Joseph, stepping up to the plate. “All I have is my rod and my staff, but it’s more than enough to battle you, you fiendishly feline foe!”
And then the Catosaurus snapped its big snappy jaws, and Joseph was never heard from again.
Dear friends, you may not recognize this, but Christmastime is actually a period of great horror, and *gasp* bodysnatching. Look at this picture. Look at it closely. Notice anything?
No? Look at the stable and look at the manger inside it. At least two figures in the tableau are not what they appear.
That’s right, they’re feline bodysnatchers from the planet Priscilla Catus Rex, and they’re coming for us all… starting with our Nativity scenes.
You have been warned.
How many times have you seen a parking spot and gone – “yes, it’ll be the perfect fit! I just have sque-gurghblurgh!”
And that’s how Garfield got stuck in a manger.
One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn’t belong.
Also, one of these things is soon going to reveal its true form as the giant sheep-eating monster know as Bellicose the Grey.
Bellicose will soon embark on his evil master plan to slaughter all the poor, trusting sheep BAA-ing Baby Jesus to sleep.
Merry Christmas, sheep. Sleep tight, and the moment you do, Bellicose will show its true colors.
Good luck surviving the reckoning to come.
Santa will hear my deepest wish…
If I wait here long and patiently enough, old Saint Nick will come sleighing ’round the bend and bring me two Christmas mice all the way from the North Pole.
THREE Christmas mice.
With a name like Socks, he was destined to be a master criminal. Sure-footed, deft, quiet. He would make no waves and leave no prints. He was like a ghost – silent, swift, preci–
“Socks! What are you doing?!”
*Looks up. Thinks*
They decided to cross deserts and plains, following yonder star. They decided to come bearing gifts of frankincense and myrrh.
They decided to come correct and, dare we say, purrfect.
Honey kitten do not care. Honey kitten will cut you.
Honey kitten has no sympathy for your sad tale, Mary.
Tell it to the judge!