Mahoney always found the interval between Christmas and New Year’s to be a thundering bore. The presents had all been given and opened; the company had come and gone. The only redeeming feature of this period, in his view, was the leftovers. The only thing stopping him from sleeping through it altogether was the fact that the endless stream of treats had begun to bedevil his digestion. He regarded it as ultra-top secret, but deep inside he knew it might be due to the fact that he was an older cat and only getting older with every year that passed.