Harry Manilow and the Dream That Almost Ruined Christmas

 

Harry Manilow and the Dream That Almost Ruined Christmas

Last night, while I slept—angelic, innocent, curled into a loaf of pure perfection—I had A DREAM.

Not a cute dream.
Not a “running but going nowhere” dream.
A cinematic nightmare with a full budget and questionable special effects.

I found myself alone in Zoomies & Purr after closing. The lights were dim. The Christmas decorations shimmered like they knew something I didn’t. Somewhere in the distance, a single jingle bell rang… dramatically late.

Then it happened.

The floor began to shake.
The shelves rattled.
A cat toy rolled across the aisle in slow motion.

From the depths of holiday doom emerged…

THE EVIL TUFFY’S DESTRUCTOSAURUS DINO.

He was enormous.
Foam-filled.
Green with rage and poor intentions.

This monster wasn’t just stomping—he was redecorating with malice. He knocked over beds, flung toys into the wrong aisles, and tried to alphabetize the treats by VIBES instead of PROTEIN, which is how I knew he was truly evil.

He chewed wrapping paper he hadn’t paid for.
He attempted to squeak every toy at once, creating a sound so loud it could summon Mariah from her ice vault.
He knocked over the Christmas tree and laughed—a shrill squeak-laugh that echoed through the store like a villain monologue.

“NO PUP SHALL BE NICE,” he squeaked.
“NO KITTEN SHALL HAVE JOY.”

I gasped.
I clutched my imaginary pearls.
Christmas… was in danger.

I stepped forward bravely, chest puffed, tail steady, eyes locked. I delivered my most powerful move:

The Long, Disappointed Stare.

He was unfazed.

That’s when I knew.
This required backup.

I summoned him with my mind.

And from behind the freezers emerged a hero for the ages…

STEVIE. THE. OCTOPUS.

Eight arms.
No hesitation.
Holiday chaos certified.

Stevie slid into the scene like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. One arm grabbed the dino’s tail. Another wrapped around his leg. Two arms yanked the squeaker out mid-laugh. One arm knocked over a strategically placed bed like a wrestling chair.

The remaining arms?

Nobody knows.
They were doing their own thing.

The Destructosaurus charged again, but Stevie latched on like a festive sea demon. The dinosaur spun in circles, squeaking wildly, while Stevie calmly rearranged him into submission—arm here, arm there, one arm accidentally waving at me like, “You good?”

I leapt into action—not biting, because I am refined—but blocking. I zigged. I zagged. I herded. I posed heroically near the Christmas decor for morale.

At one point, the dinosaur slipped on a rogue chew toy and face-planted into a pile of beds. Stevie used four arms to pin him down, two arms to silence the squeaker, one arm to give a tiny victorious wiggle, and one arm to adjust absolutely nothing, because perfection needs no adjustment.

The store went silent.

Lights flickered back on.
The tree stood tall again.
Treats were safe.
Christmas… had survived.

The Destructosaurus lay defeated, humiliated, and in timeout.

Stevie and I exchanged a nod. Heroes don’t hug.
We simply understand.

Then I woke up.

Curled in my bed.
Peaceful.
Victorious.

Was it just a dream?
Or did Zoomies & Purr narrowly avoid holiday disaster thanks to a dog with leadership skills and an octopus with too many arms?

I’ll let you decide.

But if Stevie looks a little tired today…
Be kind.

Saving Christmas is exhausting.

—Harry Manilow