I loved receiving books as a present as a kid, but as I got older and my tastes became more specific, I came to prefer receiving gift cards and picking out my own books instead. I asked for historical nonfiction books last year, but relatives confessed they had no idea what I was interested in, and it showed in the books they chose. (Still appreciated! But just not what I was expecting.) So now I just ask for specific books.
Back when I worked retail, there was a set mix of Christmas songs – mostly contemporary covers of classics – that we played nonstop between November 1 and January 1. One of the covers was, I swear, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” with the iconic bass line of “Another One Bites the Dust.” Be good or else, kids!
My childhood cat Dido – who was fiercely protective of me and of whom Elvis reminds me – was always so DISTRESSED when my parents gave me a bath. I remember her pacing back and forth along the edge of the tub and plaintively meowing, utterly convinced my clearly negligent mother was going to let me drown. (She stopped walking along the edge after falling in once, and from then on telegraphed her disdain from a safe distance.)
My grandmother’s cat Sophie earned the nickname “Tinsel Butt” for a similar feat. Fortunately, she was fine, and we stopped using tinsel for the tree.