On behalf of my beloved, Siamese cat, Ozzy and my dad

Crikey!

Said  Ozzy  cat, wiping his sleepy blue eyes with his pussy cat paws.

Has he been yet, that fat Santa Claus?

What time is this?

What’s all this noise? What’s all this commotion?

At this time of day they’re always in bed – no signs of emotion. Not even a murmour.

But  today?

Oh yes, I remember.  Today’s Christmas Day.

Now they’re up.

Disturbing  me.

But now I’m awake I’ll go for a walk; into the kitchen, into the hall, now into the lounge.

What’s that?  A tree?

Plenty of things to play with I see – all dangly and shiny. Lot’s of loose bits.

Silly people with hats on their heads who have just got up from sleeps in their beds .

It’s not all bad though.

I can smell smells.

A turkey I think and maybe a ham.

They’ll all cook too much and they’ll all overeat. They’ll all drink too much and their games won’t get played.

But I’ll still be there.

Watching and waiting.

Then it’s my time.

When they all fall asleep and slumber and snore I’ll have my fill and jump on their knees. Cos that’s  what  I do. I’m Ozzy  cat, see. That’s just what I do.  Then I will fall into a deep, deep sleep.

Oh yes!  I will. The meeces are safe, at least for today, but tomorrow, oh yes! I’ll go out to play.

That’s my Ozzy cat Christmas.

By Andrew Sellars

Stockport