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it's nearly 3am, for pete's sake. let that cat in!

what's the matter with you, man. let that cat in this instant!

listen, and listen well, dammit, because I won't ask twice. that itty-bitty puss has been purring, meowing, and hissing for hours now, and, though it may be the winter outside, and it is christmas, this isn't your classic december 24th scenario. there is room at this inn, and we're going to let him inside, out of the cold, as if it it were the baby jesus himself. because, in many ways, he is—and apparently there's a northern star above our house.

you've got work tomorrow, I've got work tomorrow. and you can bet your ass that all the while that little critter is out there hollering all alone, meowin into the festive abyss, with nothing for company but a christmas tree, decorative lights, and wide-angle lens, we are not going to get a moment's shut-eye. and that's not good news for you, because I know for a fact you've got your end-of-fourth quarterly all-synergy christmas review at the office tomorrow, and I know your job's on the line. you think the board are gonna be happy when you drag yourself into the office with bags around your eyes, your tie on backwards, and cups of starbucks holiday blend in each hand? it may be the season of goodwill, but that don't count for much in your line of Business—even lonesome mr. whiskers could tell you that. 

speaking of, you hear that? give it some time and that one little whine is gonna attract all the other december strays. before you know it, we'll have a gregorian chant of kitty kats decorating our front lawn, and freestyling their own carols with not a care for tune or harmony. who knows—one of them may have a little catnip on their person. and then we are really in trouble.

if reason does not persuade you, then surely you are moved by the plight of this destitute animal? listen to his lonesome cries ringing out into the depths of the night, and pinky swear me that your eyes are dry at the intensity of his despair? because I do not consider it possible for anyone of reasonable mind to withstand, in spirit, that animal's pain as expressed through this his wretched song. this may be the season of merriment and jollity, but these are distant lands to the furry friend who currently finds himself lost, adrift, and alone at our most decorative doorstep.

if you are still cold-hearted to his plight, then consider this: he was brought to our door by its luminous, festive character. this cat has seen the tree, and fairy lights wrapped in an embrace around the columns, and understood its greater significance. this cat has come to understand this as a home of compassion, charity, light, and warmth during these darkest days of the year. if we ignore the sound of his cries, we are not merely heartless, but hypocrites to the decoration that adorns our front porch.

the choice is yours. it is almost 2:30 AM. the cat remains alone, waiting, wailing into night. 

what are you going to do?