Friday, November 23, 2012

The Kitten who Stole Christmas

So, back in early August one of our cats went to the great litter box in the sky.

Rest in peace, Stripes.

And because I'm stupid, I thought it would be a good idea to replace her with a kitten.

 Oh hi!  I'm here to ruin your lives!

This is Bea.  Which is short for Beatrice.  Which is short for "No! Beatrice, OFF you !@##$% CAT!"

She's soft, sweet, and snuggly.  And also the reason why some people think black cats are the embodiment of evil.  Because SHE IS.

When she's sleeping, life can carry on as normal, but when she's awake, we're all held hostage in our own home.  We can't leave anything out.  I have to allot double the time to do things like sweep the floor or wipe the counters.  Because clearly I'm doing those things for her amusement.

Amelia now has to keep all of her stuffed animals inside her toy box rather than on her bed because Bea doesn't like competition--not even the inanimate kind.  She would drag toys twice her size down the stairs and bury them in the litter box.

She has eaten and pooped out enough Legos to build a small replica of Manhattan.

In the three months we've had her, she has destroyed every piece of furniture in our family room.  Every single one.

 Did I do that?

And now?  Now it's the day after Thanksgiving.  The day I look forward to all year because it's the Day of  Christmas Decorations.  Christmas is my thing.  I go all out.  Three trees.  An elaborate Christmas village.  It's the only holiday I decorate for, and I make it count.

But I've spent all week with a growing pit in my stomach.  Every time that kitten drags something across the house or pulls things down off tables and shelves, my hopes for a Christmas wonderland are dashed. 

And today I had to accept it. There can be no Christmas Wonderland with Bea. There can be no tree filled with ornaments collected all over the world, representing people and memories spanning more than thirty years of my life.  There can be no little ice skaters spinning on the rink in a quaint miniature village.  There can be no heirloom ceramic tree with its sparkling plastic lights. 

This Christmas there will be one tree, tucked tightly into a corner, with only ornaments that can be destroyed or buried in the littler box.

 Because this year Satan Claws is coming to town.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Be nice or I'll punch you in the taco.