Our Christmas tree lasted all of about 15 minutes, thanks to our hell-spawn demon disguised as a cat, Sylvester. Not long after the tree was up and the lights lit, Sylvester was magnetically pulled to it by his internal destruction-homing device. While sniffing the tree suspiciously, he developed the telltale quiver in his hind legs that alerted Gary that Sylvester was about to launch one of his many numbskull stunts. Gary called out in warning, “Sylvester!”
Our boneheaded fluffball reacted by acting like he’s never heard his name called out sternly before, when in fact it happens roughly a hundred times per day. He reared back as if shocked at the insinuation he was misbehaving, somehow managing to wrap part of the Christmas tree lights around his leg, and sprinted across the living room with said tree still attached.
So that was our classic holiday scene…our oversized furball tearing across the house with the Christmas tree in tow.
The tree was then positioned on the dining room table, which Sylvester regarded as merely a challenge to which he must arise. Now the tree is in a closet until just before the kids arrive on Sunday. Hopefully we can whip the tree out, position the presents around it, then take turns guarding the tree until the kids get here. Maybe they won’t have to witness our mentally challenged cat taking a few laps around the house with the tree dangling from his hind leg.