Because I am an equal-opportunity torturer of my cats, I decided that this year, it was Alice's turn to go out and meet the big man. So I called my mother, slapped a temporary harness on my normally collar-free cat, and went haring off for a date with destiny...or at least, a date with the local pet store Santa who hadn't retired due to cat.
The proof is in the picture:
Alice was very well-behaved. She didn't claw, hiss, spit, bite, or try to get away, although she did sing opera to express her displeasure with the time spent in the carrier. (Much like Lilly, she calmed immediately once I got her out of the box and just held her.) This Santa was definitely happier about having a cat in his lap, and admired her at great length.
It occurs to me that last year, I took Lilly to see Santa, said jokingly that I hoped she hadn't wished for a pony, and wound up bringing home a Maine Coon.
I'm scared now.