Brisk air filled the nostrils of our intrepid trio: Stripes, a tabby cat with cunning eyes; Whiskers, a persian with fluffy and affable demeanor whose looks successfully belied his mischievous nature; and Midnight, a black cat with a sleek coat and a reputation for pulling tricks undetected. Their swirling tails arched in anticipation as the scent of stuffing and cranberry glazed turkeys teased their olfactory senses.

Thanksgiving. While most associated the day with family gatherings and football games, for our three heroes, it was a crusade. Goals were two-fold; feast on the turkey and take over the coveted warm spot in front of the television. However, these were not easily achievable, having the pesky human guests hogging the spoils and the heated patch, and terrifying turkeys that bore an uncanny resemblance to their old nemesis, the vacuum cleaner.

Previous years had seen gallant, but unsuccessful attempts to conquer, but come last pumpkin pie of last season, they had pledged a solemn vow: “This time, it will be different. The turkey will be ours, and the football games will happen in the background of our triumphant feast!”. They had trained, they had studied, and they had plotted.

Their plan was as brilliant as it was deceptively simple: an end run (borrowed from the human sport they needed to outwit) around the humans and into the kitchen. Stripes would distract by covertly attacking the woolen socks of Uncle George, baiting him into a playful, albeit distracting chase. Meanwhile, Whiskers would have the responsibility to pounce on the coffee table, toppling glasses and creating commotion enough for Midnight to make the final dash for the turkey, dragging it off to their secret lair (the linen closet); undetected, unsuspected.

As the clock on the mantelpiece struck 1 P.M., game time started. The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of array of aunts and uncles, followed by the tantalizing aroma from the kitchen; the turkey was ready, and so were our feline friends.

Operation Turkey Temptation began. Stripes slithered forward, eyes on Uncle George’s feet, presumably idle as he chortled with laughter at something Cousin Betty said. Whiskers crouched, eyes narrowed at the precariously perched glasses. And Midnight, oh Midnight, charged with the heaviest task, stretched languidly in the background, belying the adrenaline pumping through her tiny body.

Without warning, Stripes launched forward, fixating target with a precision no missile system could achieve. Uncle George squawked in surprise, sending the parlour echoing with laughter. Stage one, accomplished. Amidst the hullabaloo, Whiskers sprang, creating cascading waves of spilt beer and soda, soaking Cousin Betty’s lap. Stage two, successful.

In the commotion, no eyes turned to the sleek black creature darting for the kitchen. Midnight hauled the turkey, a valiant prisoner about to be served, to their secret lair. The room filled with silence, broken only by the faint thuds of a disappearing turkey and a triumphant meow echoing through the hallways.

The chill of the room complemented the stunned expressions falling onto the family faces as they registered the absence of the November star. A triumphant purring resonated from the linen closet, where Stripes, Whiskers, and Midnight lounged, a massive turkey nestled between them. Toasting to their victory, they swiped a paw to their successful Thanksgiving, a smirk playing on their furry lips. Thus, the Pawsome Thanksgiving Escape goes down in feline folklore.

And yet, would success transform into complacency? Surely this triumphant trio has no plans to hang up their adventurer’s capes… and their wild paws. What could be more exciting, more perilous, and more hilarious than a heist on Christmas day?