I would like to say that Christmas is my favorite holiday but it’s not. It’s not the day itself, it’s the season. Too cold, too wet and way too much snow. Cats aren’t in the habit of wearing shoes, you see, so all this snow and ice plays havoc on our poor paws. Now if they would simply schedule Christmas in the summer, or even the spring, I’d be all for it. But then we all know that the powers that be don’t consider a cat’s opinion valid, so I won’t even go there.

Okay, so all this simply to say that this latest installment in my chronicles deals with Christmas, Christmas stores, in fact all things Christmas. The good part is that even in the middle of winter Tex decided to drag his barbecue set from the shed and cook us up some delicious goodies. But before that happened—and I guess this is the bad part—there were a bunch of murders being committed and I had to tax my brain—my big brain as my friend Dooley never fails to point out—to try and figure out who was behind it.

Tis the Season to be Molly