Christmas screensavers suck rocks, except for Christmas cats. Not many make the cut. I don't allow any artificial poses, cute hats, or other artifices that take away from the subject's cattitude.
Though this roundhead isn't my favorite type of cat, at least it isn't a munchkin or a Scottish fold. The contrast of the smoky tabby markings with the shiny silver and red baubles is striking. Kitty has a paw ready and is just about to strike.
Though I am not sure how they got him/her to remain still for this shot, especially with all those needles sticking into his tum, you have to admit this looks festive. Kitty seems happy, all ready for his bribe of Christmas tuna.
This one was right on the line because it isn't super-Christmassy, but the gorgeous Siamese tolerating the fuzzy (white-and-tortie?) kitten is very sweet. Now that I look at it, I see a kind of fur collar around the Siamese. At least, no bells.
Yes, this is how it should be done: a cat IN the hat, literally, snuggled up for a long winter's nap.
Sleeping cats are always good. This picture is gorgeously simple, and the lights look like the lights on my Christmas tree when I take my glasses off. Suddenly they're about a foot in diameter.
This is Kit-Kat's first Christmas, and he can't quite figure out what's going on. That ball is the size of his head. It looks like an artificial tree, so he won't be quite so enchanted with it. But just having a structure like that in the house, an outdoor-looking, climb-able thing covered with shiny balls that fairly invite a game of paw-hockey, is quite a novelty, and we can't blame Kit-Kat for jumping right into the holiday spirit.
This is just my favorite, and it might just be my screensaver until the new year. The kitten seems so relaxed, as if he's about to drop off to sleep in that kitten way.
These shots are too small and grainy to be screensavers, because they were taken a very long time ago. Our cat Murphy loved Christmas, not just for the tuna but for the convenient sleeping/lurking place. We found Christmas ornaments under sofas and chairs long after his passing. We learned to hang less-fragile ornaments at the bottom, because it was so entertaining to see him play cat-hockey with them. His stick-handling was something to behold.
His first Christmas was quite an event, and I wish we'd had a camera ready, as people always do now. He was only about eight months old, and antsy. Back then we had real trees (this was the last year, I recall), and Murphy tail-swished every time he looked at it or smelled it. One day we heard a dreadful smash and tinkle, and ran into the family room to see a half-grown apricot tabby with all four legs wrapped around the top of the tree, which was tipped over on its side. He must have made a giant run at it. The worst was that the container of water spilled. Oh dear.
Murphy was fat. No euphemism would do. He weighed 22 pounds in his full glory, and lived to be 17 years old. We still find his Christmas collar when we unpack holiday stuff, which was supposed to give me fond memories but instead makes me miss him so much I could cry.
Known only to his close friends as Foo-Foo (and when he was really naughty, Poo-Poo).
After a rare snowfall. He wasn't quite sure what to do, but made out.
Murphy defies gravity. A Christmas miracle!
Wait. . . I forgot this guy!
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