‘Twas the Night Before Christmas Vancouver Edition
’Twas the night before Van-mas, when all through the home,
Not a creature was stirring, except Moe Malone
No stockings were hung, we didn’t give a care
The apartment was cluttered with a tactical flare
The millennials were nestled in apartments around
Lucky to have, a home above ground
And Katie in her pjs and I in my sweats
Nestled into our beds, thinking of our cute pets
When out on the street, arose such a noise
“Shut your faces!” I yelled, at those hooligans boys
Back to the sofa-bed, I crawled,
Where the best cozy blanket was haphazardly balled
The florescent street light lit up the bookstore
The noise of East Van, like an urban sea-shore
When what to my wondering eyes should roam in,
But a furry white cat with an unimpressed grin.
Moe the cat and I, had very little affection
He never bothered to even nod in my direction
As I lie unimpressed, which changed into dismay
Moe walked directly towards my way
“Now Jessie,” he purred, “Now Jessie I tell you,
I didn’t like you at all, from the first time that I smelled you.”
To my lap he then jumped, to the top of my chest
And then what he told me, was certainly the best:
“We don’t always choose the humans in our life,
And since we met, there’s been plenty of strife.
Like that time I was dying, and you shoved me into a crate
Or the time you only put dry food on my plate.
Or when you told my human she should replace
Me with 68 kittens, right in front of my face.”
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
I couldn’t be sure if I’d really heard this sound.
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his toe,
Were these words really coming out of cat Moe?
A bundle of fur, from his nose to his back
He was just a cat, all white and all black
But he continued to speak, his voice was a purr
“But besides our differences, I know this for sure,”
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
Moe said, with real thought, very close were our faces:
“We all come from our own different homes and places,
We each have experiences different and varied
You can never know what another person has carried
We cannot judge a book by its cover
Or know a what’s inside of one another.
We see on the outside, we look at the show
What they let us see and think that we know.
But the truth is that many of us have been alone
And on Christmas evening might not have a home
Filled with all of the things we are meant to have,
With perfect trees, and with stockings and a mom and a dad.
And licking his wet and whiskery nose,
He curled up beside me and began to dose.
Then I heard him exclaim, and I knew it was for reals
“The truth is this season, is about all the feels.”
He cuddled right up, he was even purring,
And I knew a true miracle was occurring.
Though my heart didn’t grow two sizes that night
And my shoes didn’t become any less tight
More amazing than Moe able to chat
Was that I actually warmed up to that cat.
Photos by: Katie Malone