Dear Santa: It’s Mo, resident feline of the house. Since I’m still not in possession of opposable-thumbs, I’m using an elaborate contraption to type this. So you know I mean business. I speak reindeer as well as the next cat, so I know your expectations. I’ve tried to live the Way of Niceness. I only ate that one bird, that one time. It was making the most juicy, crispy sounds, and it was inches away…did you set that up? Unimportant. I’m lodging a complaint. The puppies have to go. They’re worse than those human babies you inflicted on us before.
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