Santa Paws: What Cats Teach Us About Giving

by David W. Falls

The Offering

Last Christmas I received a gift I wasn’t expecting. It was twitching, half-wrapped in lint, and placed squarely beside my bed like a sacrament. My cat Ele – silent, dignified, and clearly pleased with herself – watched for my reaction as if awaiting applause. It was, by all appearances, the front third of a lizard. Holiday cheer, apparently, comes in segments.

At that moment, I did what all cat people eventually do when faced with something both startling and heartfelt. I said, simply, “Thank you” – quietly wondering if the rest of the lizard was already tucked inside my stocking.

The Ritual Gesture

There was no question, she’d chosen it deliberately. Hunted it down, dispatched it with practiced ease, then paraded it through the house clenched gently in her teeth, as if presenting me with some velvet-boxed heirloom. To her, it was more than a lizard fragment. It was a gesture – of loyalty, maybe, or pride. Or maybe it was her way of saying, “This is how we do things, in my world.”

Whatever it meant, it clearly wasn’t meant to be useful. It was instinct, not practicality. Not something to wear or use, but something to feel. A gesture – pure and unpolished, meant for connection, not convenience. And somewhere between a wince and a grin, I recognized it for what it was: her offering, given in the only way she knows how.

This, I remember thinking, is the true spirit of Christmas: yuletide cheer laced with predatory charm.

A Brief Field Guide to Feline Gifting

Of course, this isn’t just random – or gross for the sake of being gross. There’s ritual behind it; something wired deep into feline code. Instinct, purpose, and just the right amount of mystery. According to those who’ve spent years decoding feline behavior, and possibly their own shredded furniture, this ritual has evolutionary roots.

Experts say cats offer up these unique little gifts for a few solid reasons:

• Hunting Instinct: Even the cushiest cat is hardwired to chase, catch, and kill. They don’t hunt because they’re hungry. They hunt because it satisfies something deeper.
• Teaching Behavior: Some researchers believe cats see us as endearing but inept; overgrown kittens who lack even basic predator abilities. When they drop a lifeless gecko at our feet, they may genuinely be trying to help us level up. It’s not gross. It’s a lesson plan.
• Safe Storage: Your home is their sanctuary. Bringing prey inside is like putting valuables in a vault – if the vault also has excellent sunbeams.
• Contribution to the Pride: Domestic or not, cats operate in a social logic all their own. Giving you a gift, even if still twitching, is a way of participating, belonging. If it prompts a scream? Even better. You’ve acknowledged receipt.

I once spent three weeks researching the perfect coffee maker for my wife, only to find out she’d just decided to stop drinking coffee. That’s the thing about human gift-giving – it often comes laced with anxiety and a desire to get it “just right.” Cats, on the other hand, never second-guess. They give what they have, no receipt, no hesitation.

Maybe that’s what holiday giving really is; we offer what we hope will be understood, even if it’s wrapped in our own logic, shaped by our quirks and guesses. Sometimes it’s a sweater that doesn’t quite fit, or a gadget that makes more sense in theory than in someone’s actual life. But we give it anyway, carried by some mix of impulse and hope – just trying to make a connection, even if the meaning lands a little off-center.

What Cats Think of Our Christmas Traditions

From a cat’s perspective, Christmas must seem like the one time of year when humans finally behave sensibly. After all, we put up a tree; clearly a personal jungle gym installed for their enrichment. We hang glittering ornaments at perfectly swattable heights. We drape the place in crinkly paper, tie ribbons to everything, and scatter decorations of all sizes across the living room like an obstacle course designed by a feline architect.

Ele, for her part, approaches December like a seasoned inspector. She circles the tree with the gravity of a forest ranger, sniffing branches, double-checking ornament stability, and occasionally giving a suspicious-looking ornament a concise audit tap, then curling up beneath the tree as if staking her claim on the entire operation.

Frankie, however, will always be the true holiday enthusiast.

In his younger days, he treated the Christmas tree like his personal jungle gym – vanishing into the branches with the stealth and confidence of a woodland spirit who knew he owned the place. We eventually had to tie the tree to the banister just to keep him from toppling the whole operation.

The wrapping paper only adds to the spectacle. Christmas morning becomes the feline Olympics: Ele prefers ribbon wrestling and precision pouncing; Frankie excels at full-body snow-angeling through the torn paper, emerging triumphantly like some mythical creature born of cardboard and tape. And when we crumble the leftover paper into tight little balls, both of them light up, batting them across the floor like homemade holiday toys.

To our cats, none of this is chaotic or confusing. It’s collaborative. They see us decorating and assume we’re finally engaging in the ancient feline custom of “putting shiny things where they don’t belong.” For one glorious month, the whole house becomes a kingdom transformed, lit by twinkle lights and governed by cats.

What Gifting Really Means

Cats don’t stress about whether their gifts are wanted or practical. They just offer up pieces of their world, sometimes a little rough around the edges, and with complete sincerity. To give like a cat is to share something real, no polish, no packaging, just the truth of who you are in that moment. It’s not about getting it right. It’s about meaning it.

That’s the quiet brilliance of it. Ele builds closeness not through spectacle but through rhythm, not through grand gestures but through her steady return. A rubber band offered like treasure. A hair cozy relocated without explanation. A pen presented with great ceremony. A Lego piece contributed to the collection – several of which I’ve stepped on the hard way. Frankie makes his own contributions now and then, usually announced by a suspicious clatter. These aren’t random acts or accidental messes. They’re part of a private, ongoing dialogue – her way of saying, I was here. I thought of you. In her language, these things matter. They’re not decorations. They’re declarations.

So, while we’re busy hanging ornaments and trying to get every detail just right, I keep thinking about that lizard, the strange, twitching miracle delivered beside my bed like an offering. Her gifts are not meant to dazzle. Simple, solid reminders: she gave what she had.

Santa Paws and the Art of the Offering

Leave it to our cats – fearless, unfiltered, and completely unfazed by social niceties – to remind us what giving is really about: not polish, not practicality, but presence. A bit of your world, dropped gently (or not) into someone else’s life with no expectation but trust.

Cats have been doing this for thousands of years. Back in ancient Egypt, they weren’t just pets – they were guardians, companions, even messengers of the divine. When a cat left something at your feet, it wasn’t seen as grotesque. It was sacred. So, while a lizard tail might not look like a blessing, in feline terms, it’s the kind of gesture that once belonged in a temple.

In her own unique way, Santa Paws had delivered.

And maybe that’s what we’re really doing when we give: not seeking perfection, but hoping to be understood. To say this is from me – and maybe, this is me. Even if the gift comes clawed. Cracked. Already trying to crawl away. To give like a cat is to risk being misunderstood. And to give anyway.

That next morning I found the tail, delicately placed by the door, like Ele’s way of wrapping up the season. And now, as the holidays arrive once more, I wait, half hopeful and ever curious, to see what she’s got planned for this year.

You can read all of David’s cosmic-cat chronicles on Cats Magazine, where physics, folklore and insight collide in the most delightful ways.