You'd think after all I've done for my cat--the belly rubs, the back scratches, the endless cans of Fancy Feast--you'd think she could at least wear a pair of reindeer antlers for three minutes while I took her picture for my annual Christmas card. But, no, Prozac, the little drama queen, had decided that the fuzzy felt antlers I'd ordered online were emissaries from the devil and was determined to avoid them at all costs.