Or, Why I'm Going To Have A Bare Tree This Christmas
My kitten, Merrill, is about seven months old, recently spayed and declawed. Now, my husband and I went to Wal-Mart and got a six foot plastic tree, since I'm badly allergic to real ones. We figured it would last a few seasons and that was great. We didn't get any ornaments or an angel to top it, which proved to be a good thing in any case.
I've had previous cats pee on trees, chew them and attempt to climb them. I have never had a cat climb the tree and sleep in its top branches until now. As a result, I wake up each morning to huge bare spots in my tree where the cat has squished the branches back down or broken them entirely. They are flatter than pancakes and each morning I gamely redo the entire tree because a plastic tree with huge bald spaces is uglier than a plastic tree that at least looks like I'm making an effort.
Right?
Well, now I've resorted to smacking the cat - a bit hard - with whatever object I can get my hands on whenever she climbs it. It's been a week and I can't even decorate my tree because there's no point to it. This is the first Christmas without my mom and having a tree is important to me. And thanks to this rotten little cat, I may have to just toss the tree, like my good mood, into the trash soon.
If I could lock her up overnight in the bathroom I would, except the acoustics in our apartment resemble an orchestra hall and you hear everything, all. The. Time. I'd go mad listening to her meow and howl all night - it's been attempted previously. And I'm certainly not taking the tree down every night, good god!
No, I'll just smack the shit of the cat and hope she learns. If not, I'll just be very, very depressed on Christmas.
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