We got our Christmas tree yesterday, from the neighborhood lot down the street. We brought the little noble fir home, gave it a couple hours soak in a bucket on the front porch, then set it up in the corner of the living room. But something was missing. No, not ornaments, though we didn’t decorate the tree until tonight. Notably absent from the proceedings were the McKittens. In past years, one or more of our three cats would keep the tree company as we set it up, and for hours afterwards. Yesterday saw some polite sniffing of needles, but no lounging beneath the branches.
Tonight, the trimmings came out: strings of lights and red wooden beads, colorful stars and hearts, sparkly snowflakes and icicles and my favorite felt Santas. Again, something was missing. Sergei came to check out the ornament box, but paid no attention as the baubles were draped on the tree. Lyra perched on the back on the closest chair, but made no moves on the tree. And Sasha, a plant-loving cat, spent most of the evening asleep on the top tier of his relocated cat tree.
I should, perhaps, be grateful that our cats are all grown up, and pose not the slightest danger to our tree. But, as I chuckled at a photo of a young cat draped around the base of his first Christmas tree like an orange tabby tree skirt, I found myself wishing that our cats were still at least a little enchanted by the tree. I miss their feline delight in the trappings of the season.
It’s time, I guess, to break out a new catnip candy cane.
I still put the less precious/ breakable/ chewable ornaments near the bottom of the tree. You never know…