“Hold down his arms and watch his teeth,” is the kind of violent sentence that Tao never expected to hear around the holiday season, particularly uttered in such a normal tone, like restraining a living creature is just par for the course come Christmas. Though to be fair, this is the first holiday season he and Kris have ever shared with Minkus.

Of indeterminable age (though the veterinarian estimates he’s around seven) and less-than-sunny disposition, the cat had turned up on Kris and Tao’s front porch around a month ago, on a particularly bad winter night, amidst roaring winds and driving rain. He had seemed smaller on that night than he does now---perhaps because he was underfed or perhaps because Tao hadn’t been aware of the magnitude of his personality---vulnerable and shivering where he huddled on the top step, and Tao, overcome with Christmas spirit and love of animals, had really had no choice but to bring him inside. And once inside, he really had no choice but heat him up some milk in a small, ceramic bowl. And once that was done, how could he not create a bed for him out of towels at the foot of his and Kris’ bed? And if he was going to all this trouble, didn’t it make sense to just welcome him into the family?

Unfortunately, only 50% of their household was of this shelter-the-needy mindset. The relationship between Kris and Minkus had been strained from the beginning when, on that very first night, Tao had leaned over to show Kris the sweet, wet cat in his arms, and Minkus had reached out, hissed, and scratched a long, stinging red line across Kris’ cheek. It was the beginning of a month of Kris heaving heavy sighs as cat food became a constant on their grocery list, refusing to call the cat by name (while simultaneously suggesting alternatives, i.e. “Lucifer”), and reminding Tao in unrelated conversations that The Cat would be going to the local no-kill shelter as soon as it was back on its feet from its night battling the elements. Seriously, Tao. We’re not keeping him.

“Watch his claws,” Kris tells him now, standing unhelpfully off to the side with a camera in his hand. “They’re getting stuck on the knit.”

“You know, you could always help me with this,” Tao mutters as Minkus lets out a long, lethal-sounding growl. Holding the cat with one arm, he opens the head hole of the red and green Christmas sweater, purchased from the pet store and complete with bells and fuzzy pom-poms, and attempts to pull it over the wildly protesting animal’s head. “It would be a lot easier with two people.”

“I’m not the one who wanted to do this,” Kris reminds him, staring down at Minkus’ head, half pulled through the fabric, distastefully. “I don’t see why we need to include him in the Christmas card at all, never mind dress him in a hideous sweater to do it.”

“Because,” Tao pants, wincing as Minkus’ back claws dig in to his thigh. “It’ll be,” he yanks the sweater over Minkus’ head, “really,” he searches for Minkus’ arms in the fabric of the sweater to pull them through the arm holes, the cat hisses and spits, “ing,” he wrangles the article down Minkus’ body, the cat’s wild fur sticking out unattractively from every open hole, “cute.”

He curses when Minkus seizes on a distracted moment and jumps off his lap, tearing down out of the living room and down the wooden floor of the hallway. Kris watches him go dispassionately.

“Kris!” Tao says, standing up. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

Kris grimaces, like why the hell would I? and Tao sighs. He brushes past him and begins a slow saunter down the hallway, checking in various rooms and clicking his tongue in calling.

Minkus’ anti-social nature is apparently exacerbated by the presence of a non-consensual clothing article on his body. Tao spends a solid half an hour combing the house, flipping up bed skirts and checking under couches, but his attempts all turn up fruitless. He’s eventually forced to make peace with the fact that even the best laid plans can’t contend with the likes of Minkus.

He’s changed out of his Minkus ravaged clothes---cat hair on his sweater, puncture wounds in his corduroys---and is arranging the pillows on the couch in the living room, the place he and Kris decided would serve as backdrop for their Christmas photo this year, when he hears a low, soft purring.

He quickly turns around, expecting to see Minkus scuffling in, bad blood forgotten in favor of receiving his dinner, but sees instead, Kris holding the cat in his arms, looking slightly confused and uneasy, the expression one would have if an assassin offered you baked cookies.

“Kris,” Tao breathes out. He takes a half-step toward them, but stops himself, hesitant to shatter the fragile moment. Minkus continues purring, rubbing his head against the side of Kris’ body. “What’s happening right now?”

Kris shakes his head helplessly. “I found him on the top shelf in the bathroom closet. I grabbed him to bring him in here and he just…” he shrugs, a small movement conscious of the animal in his arms. He still looks hesitant, but Tao catches sight of Kris’ thumb, a slow path under Minkus’ chin.

Keeping his eye on the two of them, Tao reaches backward until his hand closes on the abandoned camera on the couch. He raises it to his eye.

***

Kris thinks it’s stupid. It’s the Christmas card for their family, he says, and it doesn’t even have Tao in it. But the picture, featuring Kris staring down at Minkus with a small, secretive smile on his face, the edge of the Christmas tree just barely making it into the frame, makes Tao grin every time he sees it, so he figures it’s a pretty fair sacrifice.