Freddie slid to a stop in front of me. “Human!” he demanded.
I looked up, a little alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something on the stairs!” he cried.
I frowned. “Is it the thing?”
He frowned back at me. “That’s always there,” he said, dismissively. “This is something else!”
“What is it?”
He huffed out a frustrated breath. “Come see!” he insisted, dancing in place.
A gentle reminder of how we do things: 🐱🐶🐦
- Do not troll the diary. If you hate pootie diaries, leave now. No harm, no foul.
- Please do share pics of your fur kids! If you have health/behavior issues with your pets, feel free to bring it to the community.
- Pooties are cats; Woozles are dogs. Birds... are birds! Peeps are people.
- Whatever happens in the outer blog STAYS in the outer blog. If you’re having “issues” with another Kossack, keep it “out there.” This is a place to relax and play; please treat it accordingly.
- There are some pics we never post: snakes, creepy crawlies, any and all photos that depict or encourage human cruelty toward animals. These are considered “out of bounds” and will not be tolerated. If we alert you to it, please remember that we do have phobic peeps who react strongly to them. If you keep posting banned pics...well then...the Tigress will have to take matters in hand. Or, paw.
“Those are just decorations,” I said, looking at the Christmas mice situated on the stairs. They were a little doll family in Christmas dress, each sitting on a different step.
“They weren’t there before!” he insisted, pressing his body against the backs of my calves.
I twisted around to look down at him. “We decorated today. While you were sleeping. So things might look a little different.”
“What things?!” he cried.
I looked toward the living room, in which some of the furniture had been moved to accommodate the tree.
Freddie gasped.
“This chair used to be over there!” he said, jumping up on the seat to smell it.
“We had to move it for the tree,” I said, pointing.
Freddie looked up, eyes narrowing. “I remember. That’s not really a tree.”
I shrugged. “It’s plastic,” I admitted. “Fresh trees are too expensive and a fire hazard.”
"Fire is bad,” he agreed, jumping off the chair and wandering over to the fake tree.
“You don't have to worry about the tree,” I said, tensing. “You can keep ignoring it like you always do.”
“I just want to see,” he said, smelling the base of the tree. He grimaced. “Smells like the garage,” he said.
“How do you know what the garage smells like? You're not allowed in the garage.”
He lifted his head to sniff the closest branch. “I’ve been out there,” he said.
Now it was my turn to narrow my eyes. “When?”
“Human, it doesn’t matter. Why are these shiny things on here?” he asked, poking a bulb gently with his nose.
“They're just pretty, I said, sitting down in one of the misplaced chairs to watch him explore.
He lifted a paw to bat at it.
“Look over here!” I said, pointing to distract him.
To my relief, he turned away from the tree to look at my hand. I shook my head. “Not my hand,” I said, lowering it. “Look at the fireplace mantle.”
It took a little coaxing, and letting Freddie smell my hand, but eventually he noticed the stockings hanging on the mantle. “Socks!” he exclaimed. “That’s weird.”
“You’ve lived in this house for twelve years,” I said. “You really never noticed all of this?”
“I probably did,” he said, “but I’m also noticing it now. What are these big socks doing here?”
“Santa comes on Christmas Eve and fills them with treats and small gifts.”
“Oh! Right, I’ve seen him do that.”
“What?”
“What?”
We stared at each other. “I didn’t say anything,” he said, finally.
I shook my head, deciding it was another cat mystery like the thing on the stairs. None of my business. “Anyway,” I said, reaching out to touch one of the stockings. “This one is mine,” I told him, running my fingers across my name. “This one is Mom’s,” I said, touching the next one. “And can you guess who’s is this one?” I stroked the soft stuffed fish that dangled from the top of the stocking.
“The tuna?” he asked.
I grinned down at him. “Do you know any tuna?”
“Just the tuna in my bowl,” he said. “But how can that have a stocking?”
“This is yours!” I cried.
He gave a dramatic gasp. “That’s where my treats go!”
“Yes!”
“Santa has the best treats!”
“What?”
“What?”
“Do you...have you met Santa?” I asked, my skin feeling tight at the thought of a strange man in the house.
“Who?” he asked, not looking at me.
I shook my head. “Fine, keep your secrets. Are you ready to go to bed?”
"Yes,” he said, walking past me to the stairs. As soon as they came into view, he froze. “The mice!” he gasped.
I rolled my eyes. “Are inanimate,” I said, stepping past him.
“They don’t look unimanimant,” he said.
“Inanimate,” I repeated. “It means they aren’t alive. They’re just dolls.” I walked past them and stopped at the landing, looking down at him. “See? Perfectly safe.”
He ran up the stairs as fast as he could, turning at the landing to take the rest of the steps at the same pace.
“Are you going to be scared of them all season?” I called up.
“Who’s scared?!” he called back down. “Not me!”
Happy Caturday, Peeps! We are very fortunate that Freddie is generally unconcerned with the holiday decor and tends to leave it alone (outside of peeing on the tree skirt that is, sigh). Do your pooties like to climb the tree and play with the ornaments?
