Things in life were going pretty well here, until Christmas morning.
Then I arose to discover that two of the felines with whom I share the Manor had caught and killed Santa when he came down the chimney to dispense presents.
The first sight to greet my eyes, on that fateful morn, was the young’un cat plunging into Santa’s drawers, there to feast upon a morsel of his loins.
This harrowing scene is depicted in the photo offered above.
I tried to drive the wanton Claus-consumers away from the fallen fat man, but they snarled and spit and sedulously stood their ground.
By the time I got to the guy, he had gone the way of all flesh.
All that remains now are the upper portions of his pants.
I don’t know what is going to happen. I presume the cats will be brought up on charges: at the very least, Assaulting a Figment. I fear I myself shall be charged as an accessory.
So if this site goes dark, you’ll know the reason why. We have all been transported to The Hague.
And, if you didn’t get what you wanted or expected this Christmas, you now know about that, too. Santa never made it to your place. He fell in the line of duty. Here in the Manor.