Festive Felines

They say that cats and Christmas trees do not mix. On the contrary, they mix extremely well. Cats just love all those bright, shiny baubles and those flashing coloured lights, to say nothing of those irresistibly climbable branches. They are convinced that it has been put there for the express purpose of providing hours of fun and entertainment for them and them alone and they look at you in utter disbelief if you have the temerity to even attempt to tell them off. What the tree thinks about it all I am not so certain. It has little choice, screwed firmly into its metal tripod and tethered securely at the top by a piece of strong string to the wall. It gazes out from its prison corner, a hint of melancholy about it, as if to say "Is this what it has come to, all those years proudly growing strong and tall in a forest in Norway, to be chopped down in my prime like any piece of rough timber, then shipped over to England in a hold crammed full of my friends and neighbours. To be decorated with effeminate bows and baubles and held prisoner here, an object of fun and amusement for a frenzy of felines and a source of pride for their owners that I have not succumbed to the ravages of those ferocious felidae, then to be discarded after the holidays like a useless lump of driftwood without even a word of thanks. To have them strutting and boasting about what a marvellous tree I am, as if it were their doing, all my beauty and strength, theirs, not mine. Oh that an eagle had plucked me in infancy to line its nest, rather than suffer the humiliation of ending my days in disgrace as ........................................ a Christmas tree!"

The cats, meanwhile, giving no more thought to the tree's feelings than to ours, are engaged in climbing, batting, knocking and chewing immediately the last bauble is hung. Our hearts stop as we yell in unison "NO! STOP IT! NAUGHTY!" as Pixie's mouth is illuminated a fetching orange from the tree light she is about to crunch. Luckily she takes heed, staring at us in amazement and not a little resentment at her fun being so loudly and rudely curtailed. unabashed she turns and disappears inside the tree, her progress revealed by twitching branches and shaking baubles. We shrug mentally and leave her to it, the tree has broad shoulders and we can always re-hang the baubles, at least we have prevented fried kitten for now.

Christmas Day morning and the tree still stands, maybe not quite so proud, maybe not quite so symmetrically decorated, but, hey, it STANDS! Pixie disappears under it and emerges minutes later close to the top. "LOOK AT ME!" she yells silently. I know I should have told her off, removed her, and instilled in her that she was never, ever, to do that again, but it was a picture crying out for the taking and so I ordered her to stay right where she was, and dashed for the camera. Once I had captured the moment I did what I should have done in the first place - I told her off, very gently, and removed her from her perch, even more gently, then gave her a huge cuddle just for being her and for being so cute. Yes, I know!

Day five and the tree still stands. Even less proud, even less symmetrically decorated, but IT IS STILL STANDING! This is in direct contravention of all the laws of gravity and cat ownership and makes us the object of admiration and not a little envy from our friends. People who say it can't be done are re-writing the rule books and people who wondered if it could be done are asking "how?". With a little care (like anchoring the tree firmly), a reasonable amount of discipline (self discipline that is, making ourselves re-hang displaced decorations and straighten uneven lights daily), and a lot of love (for those naughty torties and skittish kittens and the rest of the feline family). Easy!

To be fair the majority of the older cats find the whole Christmas thing old hat by now and do tend to leave the tree alone for the most part, it is the kittens and younger ones who are revelling in it. Especially Pixie who by now has perfected the art of the "hit the bauble, do a runner and leave Douglas to take the blame" manoeuvre. The speed at which she can reach the settee at the opposite side of the living room, leaving a bemused and slightly bewildered but stoically willing to shoulder the blame Douglas sat under the tree has to be seen to be believed. If you didn't catch the merest hint of movement out of the corner of your eye as you entered the room you might well be duped into believing her innocent and wide-eyed "It wasn't me, honest, it was him, look, he's sat there with the bauble under the tree" routine. Such guile at such a tender age. And poor Douglas, bless him, with his history of abuse before coming to live with us, it is not surprising that he genuinely believes everything is his fault, or, if not, then he is surely a gentleman of the highest order to protect her reputation and innocence as he does.

Christmas with cats, festivities with felines, what can I say? It would just not be the same without them. We would miss the thrill of seeing the tree survive another day; the pride in showing friends our magnificent, still-in-one-piece tree and decorations; the satisfaction of stopping Rascal from swinging on the hanging Santa-and-reindeer wall decoration; the excitement of, just in the nick of time, stopping Anthony from tucking into the turkey, raw and only just defrosted, all on his own, how he would have managed I do not know, the turkey was twice his size at least; the useful (especially after all that turkey!) daily exercise gained in picking up and replacing tree baubles and Christmas cards; the joy in watching them explore, despite torrential rain, their Christmas present - a large and rather fine outdoor cat play station; and the glowing feeling of love and contentment sharing our Christmas with them and watching them bask in the warmth from the fire, stretched out on the new sheepskin rug before it (the cats of course, not us!).