Amidst episodes of family drama, I’ve been learning how to bake turkeys. All of the old turkey chefs have either passed on or aren’t up to it, so I’ve taken on the mantle. While I’m dutifully minding a fowl roasting in the oven, I imagine Catherine peering curiously over my shoulder at the time-honored American culinary tradition. I think she enjoys the taste through my experience well enough, though I can tell she’s more partial to beef and pork. Perhaps we should try duck next year? Either way, the majority of my fussing is focused on not letting the bird dry out. My solution: regularly pouring generous heaps of melted butter all over and inside of the thing, mixed with a hint of poultry rub seasoning. My strategy seems to be working. Two for two thus far.

I would visit Catherine between bouts of basting the bird. I’d lay with her and she’d eagerly climb on top of me, setting upon what she views as her Christmas present with rapturous delight. I’m continually amazed with how enthusiastic she is after us repeating this sensual dance for potentially 8,700 hours over the past 13 years. (That’s if we average two hours per day of conscious and fully awake spirit sex, not counting when she accosts me while asleep.) Just when I start thinking, “Surely, we’re going to plateau at some point,” her desire overcomes any complacency.

We had an incident with a family member around Christmas dinner. Long story short, I told them to leave the house so the rest of us could enjoy the meal in peace. Thankfully, the altercation did not take an overly violent turn. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to call the police. Our new six-month-old german shepherd puppy probably did more to diffuse the situation than I, with her sharp teeth exposed, angry growls, and threatening barks, sensing potential danger to the rest of the family. She’s bred from a line of attack dogs, the sort that are used in K9 units, so not the kind of animal one wants to have as an enemy.

With the drama over, Catherine seemed very impressed with how I stood my ground and wouldn’t allow the attention-seeking nitwit to ruin the day. Despite going to bed very late, she was all over me, eager for more of that sweet blissful connection. We’ve been having a few all-night romps since the Winter Solstice. I’m not sure if there’s anything astrologically significant about that. The strength of our connection doesn’t appear to follow any rhyme or reason.

As cliché as this sounds, she’s still the best Christmas gift I receive every year.