‘Twas the night before Christmas when a bedraggled white feline enters the heart–and home–of Cleveland Amory. To say it is a friendly takeover is an understatement. For the cat who came for Christmas is clearly of the Independent Type, and Cleveland Amory, curmudgeon or not, is, where animals are concerned, a pushover.Toe to toe they stand–Amory at six feet three, the cat at six inches–and eyeball to eyeball with each other on every issue: whether or not to come when called; to recognize one’s name; to take a trip, a pill, a bath, or a walk on a leash; to be civil to New People; or even in an age when Thin Is In, why anyone in his right mind would want to be the Last Fat Cat. We will not spoil The Cat Who Came For Christmas by telling you who blinks first. Suffice it to say that in this hilarious battle, nine times out of ten, it is not the cat.