Area felines declare war on Christmas

“Ok, I give up! The Christmas tree stays down!” I shouted at my cats, who couldn’t be bothered to give a flying fuck.

This is the 17th time they’ve knocked down the Christmas tree since I put it up Black Friday. I didn’t even put the ornaments on the fake spruce before this band of evil whiskers and toe-beans had it down. But as a snowflake ass liberal, I hadn’t really considered how these seemingly psychotic felines must feel. I felt terrible for screaming at them. So I decided it was high time to find out just what is going on behind those glowing eyes.

“Hey Samantha, can you tell me why exactly you hate this tree so much?” I said.

Samantha, a 4-year-old seriously bitchy gray cat, responded calm and thoughtfully, “Had you even considered that I might not celebrate Christmas? I’m as Jewish as Bernie Sanders. Maybe you could put up a Menorah this year as well, and get me some Dreidels to play with.”

“Wow, I’m sorry Samantha, I had no idea I was ignoring your faith so blatantly. I think a menorah sounds lovely. Perhaps you can stop stealing my bacon?” I said.

“I’m don’t eat Kosher all the time.” Samantha replied with a hiss.

I moved on to my oldest cat, Suzy, a gray and white striped purr machine. “Oh my dear sweet Suzy, why do you keep pulling the lights off the tree?”

Suzy meowed loudly, then replied, “I guess I’m just bored. Would it kill you to pay for cable?”

“How about Netflix?” I tried to negotiate.

Suzy met me halfway, “Throw in Hulu and Disney plus and you got yourself a deal.”

I shook her paw and quickly asked my friend for her account information via text. I’m not made of fucking money ok? My other 5 cats were too busy licking each other to answer my questions, but I felt I had a good handle on the situation.

“Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel” I began singing to myself. Just then I was rudely interrupted by my neighbor.

“Why are you naked on your porch and meowing back at your cat?” My neighbor asked.

It was just then I remembered the magic mushrooms I had generously cooked into my breakfast omelette. “Mind your fucking business Karen.” I said as I walked inside, ass all out, kind of thankful that my cats can’t actually talk.