Suzy Says

I already took the Christmas tree down, and I already miss it.

I used to wonder what was the matter with those people whose trees were at the curb the day after Christmas. Now I know: they have kittens.

Mine started their siege as soon as the battle of setting up the tree was finally over. They merrily chased the string of lights as I wove it through the branches. They relentlessly hunted the gorgeous glass peacocks (with real feather tails!) without a license. What was I thinking? If the cats live to be 22, as a friend’s cat did, they’d still be after those birds. I still regret their gorgeousness hidden away in a box, possibly forever, when they should be delighting Me and passers-by on an annual basis.

~sigh~

The entire time the tree was up, minus nap time, was occupied with pouncing on the tree, chewing on the tree, trying (and succeeding) in pulling the tree over, jumping on it, and driving Suzy to despair. Armed with a plant mister, I squirted them with water during the tree attacks, which diverted them temporarily, but only temporarily. Yelling at the cats and squirting them made me so sad that I just packed it all up, even though everyone knows that packing up the tree before Twelfth Night is bad luck. And I did want one more night with the tree sparkling and the candles in the fireplace flickering, but being a grown-up is one big disappointment, and you’d think I’d be used to it by now.

Henry fled as I dragged up the heavy trap door in the floor of the porch where he was comfortably ensconced on the couch. I have noticed that cats, quite reasonably, frown on any kind of housework-related disruption to their otherwise civilized lives. I got the box out, and dismantled the tree far more quickly than I had assembled it, though the kittens’ participation was equally enthusiastic on both occasions. June even jumped into the box of tree parts for one last desperate chew.

By the time I was finished, I couldn’t face the perilous journey under the house in semi-darkness, so I left the box on the Henry-vacated porch, where it remains to this day. After I put the box outside, I had to vacuum up tree residue, which made the kittens flee in terror of housework. They’ll have to think of other ways to drive me crazy, and I have total confidence in their abilities. Henry has returned to his comfortable porch and seems to have forgiven me, since he let me pet him two days in a row when I fed him (my only petting opportunity).

I’m still clinging to my wreath for now.