Maybe This is the Kind of Boy Santa Misses

Or maybe our cat is the kind of boy that Santa Claus misses. Today I started unloading my dryer, and was interrupted by some dire "emergency" upstairs, like a wayward gallon of milk, or a missing pair of sweat pants. A while later I returned to the dryer and started pulling out clothes, with some difficulty; and when I bent over to get a better handle on a pair of purple sweat pants, there he sat, Friendly; and as many of you have read, no, he is not. (What I call our "Friendly Occupation" began many years ago. My kids found him at a warehouse where we were told he'd been hanging out for several weeks, seemingly abandoned. So my wonderful husband did what any firm disciplinarian might do under extreme duress and in the face of four pitifully pleading children, he caved and brought the cat home, telling them that we could keep him if Mama said it was okay. Thanks Honey. The kids told me he was soooooo friendly when they met, hence the name. The truth is that they should have named him "Desperate and Hungry.")
The deal was that Friendly was supposed to be an outside cat, but he hasn't chosen to believe that, and finds his way into our house more often than out. I'm reasonably sure he wasn't in the dryer when I put in the wet clothes, and that he must have found the door open and a nice warm bed waiting. From the pic I snapped, he seems not to have been fluffed on the perma-press cycle, but looks more than a little disgusted with me for interrupting his nap. Look out, Friendly, Santa Claus is watching, especially the bad boys.