The most wonderful time of the year? I beg to differ. If it was so wonderful, I would be invited to participate in it.
Lights twinkle from above me on the Christmas palm tree, purchased by my people as the last gasp from Sears before it shuttered. A fuzzy flamingo ornament dangles tantalizingly out of my reach. White-jumpsuited Elvis has made his triumphant return to silently sing from a high branch. And all I can do is watch them from below, wishing I was part of the action.
The day the tree went up was quite exciting. I lurked around, feigning interest in Mother while it was all about what she was doing. Somehow, the middle of the tree was lost in our recent moves, but Father is a genius and he fashioned a palm trunk out of some random plastic pipe. With the addition of some extra boughs from his sister’s Christmas-crazy household, the tree was up, looking better than ever. I couldn’t wait to get close to it. I pretended to sleep through episodes of The Marvellous Mrs. Maisel and Peaky Blinders until they finally left the living room.
Slowly, I padded toward the beautiful tree and gazed up at its magnificence. The sparkles, the gentle movement, the sheer beauty of it. It stirred my soul deeply, second only to Father’s loving smile. You’re familiar with mindless eating? That’s what I did, to the bottom of the tree, and didn’t give it another thought.
That is until my stomach gurgled and the fake pine needles made their return, repeatedly, loudly and frankly, disgustingly. Mother, who kneeled down in several places and removed all evidence of my green emissions, was still not as unhappy as I was. And yet, I went back for more. But that wily woman was one step ahead of me, as this evidence shows.
It’s somewhat festive but it is as obvious as a blinking neon sign that reads, CATS NOT WELCOME! I mean really, what’s a little green vomit between family members? I miss the hunt and peck aspect of choosing my fake pine needles and the challenge of swallowing them. Tinfoil is repulsive and repellent. Do they even realize that? Mother even went so far as to vacuum any scattered needles from my world.
I feel so left out and wonder whether felines throughout the world are shunned in December. I turn my back on the tree to show it my true feelings and what do I see on the other side of the room? My stocking! I had forgotten all about it. It’s shaped like my paw and big enough to hold treats and toys. Christmas hasn’t forgotten me after all!
From now on, I will ignore the tinfoiled tree and concentrate on my fuzzy stocking. I don’t have my own calendar so I will have to check it every day, several times, to notice any changes to its girth. Something will end up in there for me, and I’m so full of anticipation, I can hardly stop licking myself. And I sing the song sung by the Whos of Whoville: Ba hoo doray! Christmas is for cats after all!
With love from your elf as herself,