We put up the tree today.
In years past, it’s been quite the production, with us having to remove cats from the box and from the tree as it’s being assembled. But Rupert is now ten years old, and more interested in sleeping than in wreaking havoc (most of the time), and Sherman, at seven, has also gotten a little less interested in the Christmas decor. So we had no help at all, and in a way it was kind of sad, to accept that last year might have been the final year of having a cat in the tree.
But then, this evening, while hanging out in the living room, watching a holiday baking competition show on TV, I heard rustling from the branches, and I turned around to see this.
This is our tenth year of having cats in the tree. The poor thing is looking a bit lopsided by now, since the branches weren’t meant to support that kind of weight. But somehow it just wouldn’t be the Christmas season without at least one self-decorating ornament, so we were both quite happy to see that Timmie has taken on the mantle and was willing to continue the tradition.
‘Tis the season for Holidailies.
I have dogs. They don’t climb in the tree – thankfully as they weigh a quarter ton, collectively – but my pointer, Max, is obsessed with this one ornament that has a fluffy beard (it’s a bust of Santa). He finds it on the tree and steals it EVERY. SINGLE. YEAR. This year I outsmarted him. That ornament stayed in the box.
Aw Timmie; she’s come so far!
We’ve always had cats in our tree. A few of them have fallen completely over.
Gizmo is our baby, and when we had a bigger tree, he’d climb to the top and sleep in the branches. I switched to a smaller tree and he just bats at the ornaments now.