One More Day

Oy vey! Aviva's coming to town in about 33 hours.
Everything's come together pretty well, and I am ready for our vacation to start.
All I have left to do is vacuum. That sounds easy, but with two cats and a no-allergy-having person who hates to vacuum regularly, we are talking an ordeal of epic proportions.
James has been sneaking toys out of his basket and hiding them in every corner of every room. He favors the little cloth mice that might easily be sucked up in my 500-pound Kirby heavy duty Suck-o-Matic.
I know he's doing it on purpose.
He knows something's up.
He's like a jealous lover on a Mexican novella soap opera. He keeps glaring at me like I have wronged him. Fortunately, James is not a vindictive kitty. So far.
He will first try to charm Aviva with his adorable post-toddler antics, but if she doesn't take the bait, he'll just hide and pout instead of peeing in her shoes or suitcases. He may also puke for effect.
My old cat Bart doesn't care what I do or with whom I do it. As long as there's food in his dish and a sunny or warm spot to nap in, Bart is totally cool.
Tonight I am going to sequester both kitties in their bedroom, so they won't blame Aviva. Bart will be fine but the baby will be horrid, I just know it.
James will try to wrestle Bart all night, Bart will get fed-up and slap him around a little, James will cry real loud and bite Bart's neck, then Bart will pounce on James and pin him to the floor with his Virginia ham-sized torso. If I could just train Bart to keep him pinned all night, my life would be easier.
Ahh, I don't care. All I know is, my Christmas is fixin' to get a whole lot merrier in about 32 and a half hours.