First thing Christmas Day morning, our little Tonkinese cat Calypso was killed on the main road outside the house.
Why was she in the road - she never went outside the garden? Why didn't the bastard who hit her stop? Why just five months after our other cat was run over? And why, why on Christmas Day of all days, my favourite day of the year, to which I start looking forward, ooh, roughly around the preceding Boxing Day? It's all too awful and sudden and unfair for me to believe it properly, even now.
We did wonder whether we should postpone the festivities rather than enforcing jollification on ourselves. But...it was Christmas. We buried her in the garden; then we had our presents and our dinner, and were terribly kind to one another.
On Earth, peace and goodwill.