Furry Boxmas to All

Muffin the tabby liked lots of catty things: string, catnip, napping. But he didn’t like boxes. All the other cats couldn’t get enough of them, sitting in them, slapping them, chewing them. Muffin didn’t get it. Until one night when he learned the true meaning of Boxmas.

Muffin was sleeping in an empty laundry basket when he awoke to the sounds of jingle-jangling coming from outside. Wondering if it was some kind of musical mouse or sparrow, Muffin rolled out of the basket and trotted to the window. The gray cat whipped his tail around as he saw

The most magnificent golden sleigh. Surely it couldn’t be! thought Muffin. The cat had long been a holiday skeptic. He rubbed his little Kitten eyes with his tiny paws. Still there. He heard scratches within the chimney then suddenly a cloud of soot overtook the room.

Muffin let out a soft mew of amazement. As the soot cleared, he saw the granddaddy of all kitty myths standing in front of him: Sandy Claws. “Um, why are you wearing a Hawaiian shirt? Where’s your red suit?” Muffin asked. “It’s not like I live at the North Pole,” Sandy scoffed.

“I’m retiring, too tired.” Sandy finished. “Besides, the sun’s better than the snow anyway.” Muffin stared in amazement. “Does this mean you need a replacement?”

“On the contrary,” Sandy said “you’re living the snowbird life with me. Palm trees all winter, what do you say?” Muffins eyes welled with tears—she’d waited her whole life to hear those words. She zipped her bag with her teeth and said with finality, “I’ll pack the sunscreen.”