Saturday afternoon, chez Yowl.
Her Grace, the Duchess of Yowl: What are you doing? You're not petting me.
Me: Addressing Christmas cards, your Grace. We need to get them in the mail soon.
DoY: (glancing at cards) That is a foul hound wearing antlers as a hat! I hope you're not including my name on that card!
Me:That's a reindeer.
DoY: (squinting) It looks like a foul hound.
Me: Well, reindeer are not dogs. They pull Santa's sleigh.
DoY: The Santa who brings me gifts?
Me: One and the same.
DoY: Perhaps those are cats...
Me: Your grace, a cat would never pull a sleigh.
DoY: Heaven forfend. What was I thinking. I must be faint from hunger.
Me: Yes, that must be it. Breakfast was twenty minutes ago.
DoY: The space time continuum is my plaything.
Me: Any chance you can adjust the number of hours in a day to 36? I'm a little behind on my reading.
DoY: Behind on your petting you mean.
Me: (petting DoY with both hands) Also true.
DoY: and ear-scricching.
Me: I only have two hands.
DoY: Your limitations are so inconvenient.
Me: It's a wonder you keep me around at all.
DoY: I'd say great minds think alike but Santa is coming!