Nothing Meowed Under My Tree This Christmas

I dropped hints.

I whined.
I cried.
I threatened.
I cajoled.

But there was nothing under the Christmas Tree this year meowing at me.

Nothing soft and warm and cuddly waiting for me to gather it up in my arms and snuggle it.

No good can come of this.

Russian Blue (pic from Wiki website)

Oh, be still, my beating heart.

I have names picked out. Girl AND boy. These were Russian sailor's cats. They love the water.

I. Want. One.

Bengal (again, Wiki)

Have already vetoed this idea. Apparently they are as destructive as a gorilla. One yarn incident....well, I'll let you do the math. Ain't going there. Moving on.
They are drop dead gorgeous, though...and personality plus. And they chew furniture.
They also love the water. They jump in the shower with their people.
(NOBODY gets in the shower with me.)
After some thought, I'm sure I'd end up with a psychotic man-eater...and while that would be awesome if I could train it to kill on demand...I can't have it in the house with The Things. And me.
This, it should go without saying, would be the cat The Big Guy would concede to having.
The one I would be locked in my bedroom, hiding from.

Oh, God Help Me.

I had two of these when I met The Big Guy. Sambuca and Nikko. 

Buca HATED The Big Guy. She'd sit on top of the fridge, glaring down at him, hissing.

He hated her right back.

When I moved to Maine I had to leave her behind with my Mother.

We took Ghost. 

Remember Ghost? She died January 4th of last year, under my Christmas tree.

You know, the one nothing meowed at me from this year on Christmas morning.

Oh.

My.

God.

Um, there will be NO MESSING WITH THE YARN, however.

Sigh. LOUD EMPHATIC SIGH.

p.s. My neighbor has a couple of unwanted kittens hanging about who need a home. He said he briefly considered sneaking up to my house Christmas morning, opening the door, throwing a kitten inside, and running. HOW FUNNY WOULD THAT HAVE BEEN??!!!