A Christmas Kibble (Part 1): Marley Was Flat 🕯️🌫️🐈✨🐾

Marley was flat: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. 🐾

He was as flat as a discarded rug, or a piece of cardboard that has been sat upon by an oversized Maine Coon. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate. 📖✨

Ebenezer Muffin knew he was flat? Of course he did. Muffin and Marley were partners for I don't know how many years. Muffin was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, and his sole... well, his sole friend in the **Heated Sun-Ray Mat** business. ☀️💼

But Muffin was a tight-fisted cat at the scratching post, Muffin was! A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! 😾💎 Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shriveled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating meow.

Nobody ever stopped him in the hallway to say, with gladsome looks, "My dear Muffin, how are you? When will you come to see my new crinkle-toy?" 🧶 No beggars implored him to bestow a single kibble; no children asked him what it was o'clock; no cat, man, or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to the nearest sun-spot. 🚫☀️

It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal. The Resident Staff was trying to warm the house with a single radiator, but Muffin hogged the entire surface, hissing at young Toby—the Bob Cratchit of cats—whenever the lad approached for a sliver of warmth. 🌬️❄️

"Humbug!" Muffin spat, as Toby shivered on the cold linoleum. "If I could work my will, every cat who goes about with Merry Christmas on his lips should be boiled with his own catnip and buried with a stake of sisal through his heart. He should!" 😾💥

Muffin took his melancholy dinner in his usual melancholy bowl, and having read all the labels on the pantry door, went home to bed. He lived in chambers which had once belonged to his deceased partner. It was a gloomy suite of rooms, but for Muffin, they were entirely efficient. 🏛️🌑

Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact, that Muffin had seen it, night and morning, during his whole residence in that place. And yet, Muffin, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, without its undergoing any intermediate process of change—not a knocker, but **Marley's Face**. 🧿🧿🙀

Ready for the next chapter? Who visits Muffin in the dark? Find out in Part 2! 🐾✨