On Christmas day, as the dog blissfully gnawed and slobbered on a gargantuan rawhide bone, I walked into my bedroom and saw the cat cozily napping on my bed. I felt a little bad that we didn't get him a present. For about three seconds. Because then I remembered -- as I looked at him owning that bed -- that his whole life is a present.
Except, of course, when Ramona has dressed him in this: