At Christmas time in 2002, we had two cats, Monty and Wells. Wells was about four years old an already quite a talented Christmas tree dismantler. Monty was only about eight or nine months old, and had never experienced the holiday tradition of climbing the Christmas tree and batting all the sparkly things off with one’s paw. We felt certain that Wells would quickly teach him what a pleasure this could be, and took measures to prevent the undoing of our Christmas decorating.
Upon finishing the dressing of the tree, we erected a removable gate all the way around it to keep the cats at a distance from all the fascinating shiny and blinking things. For weeks the tree remained untouched, and sparkled brightly within its confines. The presents piled up within that circle of safety, and we ceased to worry about feline vs. plastic pine mishaps.
Finally Christmas arrived, and the gate was opened to allow us to gather and unwrap our gifts. As we were sitting right by the tree, we were not concerned that the cats were shut in the same room with us. Santa had even filled their stockings, and they were to be included in the festivities.
As the presents were opened and paper and ribbons scattered about the room, Wells was enjoying all the elements of the day. After about two-thirds of the gifts were opened, I happened to notice poor Monty, frozen like a statue under a table. His eyes were wide and his ears were laid back in agitation. I followed his motionless, terrorized gaze straight to… the Christmas tree.
For weeks we had kept a fence between the tree and the cat, but this morning we had mercilessly unleashed the tree upon him! There must be something terrible and dangerous about this large, green thing that we had to tie up with cords of lights, and contain within a gate. Now it was loose, and in the very same room with him!
Once we realized the cause of Monty’s terror, we quickly fenced the tree back up. Monty was visibly relieved, though he took a while to calm down. Soon, however, he was wandering about the room, sniffing at trails of ribbons and playing with some new catnip-filled mice Santa had brought for him. If we would so much as go near the area where the gate opened, the cat shot back beneath the table until he was certain the tree was not being set loose again. A week after New Years, Monty’s life returned to normal when the tree was dismantled (by the humans), boxed up and removed to the storage shed in the back yard.
Perhaps next year we’ll decorate a large, sturdy scratching post, and simply keep the presents in the closet until Christmas morning. Then again, it’s far more fun to witness a cat in fear for his life over a plastic tree. I suppose even trees may enjoy a little revenge every now and again.
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