There is the Kardashian klan, all kitted out in their finest white robes. There is boring brother Rob, dressed up as the traditional yuletide DJ. There is Kris, Grendel's mother, arching her back like she's painted on the nose of a P-51 Mustang headed for Dresden.
There is a cat (kat) in a box that is both dead and alive.
Today, December 18, we know the outcome of the experiment. Kim Kardashian's kat, Mercy, died two weeks ago while pleading for it. When we looked in the box, we saw that one of the radioactive atoms had decayed, releasing the hammer that shattered the small flask of hydrocyanic acid, killing the kat.
(What actually happened is that Kim got a kitten, found out a few iPhone shots later that she was allergic to the kitten, and didn't want to deal. She gave the kat to her sister's assistant, and a couple weeks later the kat died of kat cancer.)
But at the time the photo was taken, the box and its contents remained undisturbed. The atom had both decayed and not decayed. The kat was both dead and alive. Paralyzed Mercy faced outward, seeing and not seeing, her eyes bright with fear and cold in death. All around her, the Kardashians clasped hands, gripped hips, and toasted the sky, celebrating the splendid unpredictability of life and the joy of living every moment as your last, in the company of loved ones.
One day you wake up and it's snowing confetti. One day you hold your glass out the window and it fills with champagne. One day you open the box and the kat is still alive.