I don’t like change.
Especially in my territory.
The human regularly picks things up and moves them and she never even tells me she’s going to do it first. All of a sudden, this chair that has always sat in the same place, is turned the other way, or moved to the other side of the room. It changes the whole feel of the space! It makes me nervous.
And she’s doing it again.
A gentle reminder of how we do things: 🐱🐶🐦
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I sat at the edge of the living room and watched as she moved the furniture and scrubbed the floor. “You’re putting everything back the way it was, right?” I asked, worried.
She paused her labor and looked up from the floor at me, wiping sweat off her brow with her arm. “What’s that, little guy?” she asked.
I shifted uncomfortably. “You’re just cleaning, right? You’ll put everything back.”
She gave me a gentle smile and my heart dropped. That meant bad news. “I’m going to move things a little. I need to make room for the Christmas tree.”
“Already?!” I cried.
She laughed and turned back to her work. I entered the room carefully, examining each piece of furniture and contemplating its new location once by one. Here was the couch I sleep on when I want some alone time. Here’s the chair on which I sometimes cough up hairballs. It was clean now, but I’d keep its new spot in mind next time I felt the urge. The coffee table had some new stuff on it, so I hopped up to smell everything.
The human picked up her cleaning supplies and left the room, leaving me to my exploration. I gave everything new on the table a careful sniff, making sure the room would hold no secrets from me, no matter the changes.
She returned, arms full of boxes. I could hear things shifting around inside and I jumped down from the table so I could have the first look. The human set her burden down with a grunt, then looked over at me. “Were you on the table?” she asked, frowning.
I looked around. “I’m on the floor,” I told her, pointing out the obvious.
She shook her head at me, and left the room again.
Two more trips into the garage later, the human seemed satisfied with the pile of boxes. She sat on the floor and started opening everything. I stood next to her, sticking my head in first so I could see what she brought.
It was a lot of shiny glass.
“I think this is everything,” she said to herself.
“It looks like everything,” I said, wisely, not really sure what we were talking about.
She stood and dusted her hands off. “It’s time to set up the tree,” she told me. “You should probably nap in the other room.”
That sounded like a good idea, but I don’t do what she tells me. So I stayed.
She swore a lot, especially when she thought she was missing a segment and went searching around all the boxes, but eventually the thing she called a “tree” was up.
It’s not real tree. It doesn’t even look like any of the trees in the yard. It doesn’t smell like them either. I’ve smelled them all, so I know. It smells a little like the snowman treat dispenser when it’s empty.
It would be nice if the tree had treats on it.
For the next step, she picked up individual baubles of shiny glass and wood and plastic and hung them from the branches of the plastic tree. Occasionally she would show me one and explain it. “We got this one when we went to Mt Evans,” or “This was a gift from my sister,” or “I made this when I was little.” A lot of the pieces seemed to have a deep meaning.
I couldn’t wait to knock them off the tree and chase them.
The human stepped back and examined the tree, eyes squinted, head slightly tilted to the side. “Do you see any bare spots?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
She looked down at me. “Where?”
“No,” I said.
“No? You don’t want to tell me?”
“I don’t know what we’re talking about.”
She snorted a laugh and bent down to rub my back. “You should go take a nap,” she said again.
“I should,” I responded, and didn’t move.
She straightened up, laughing again. “You should do what you want,” she added.
“That’s what I do,” I pointed out.
She lifted something out of one of the boxes with a triumphant cry. “I found the topper!” she announced with a grin.
“Okay,” I said, watching her hold it up and wishing I could smell it. I stretched my neck out and sniffed the air, but it was too far away.
She climbed the step ladder and carefully placed the angel on top of the tree. It took her a little while, adjusting it and muttering to herself, before she descended the ladder with a satisfied smile. She looked over at me. “I think it’s all finished,” she said.
It was very pretty, although I wasn’t sure I preferred it to the way the room usually looked.
The human and I sat on my napping couch, taking in the changes to the room. There was a fire burning in the fireplace (“It’s too hot for a fire, really, but it’s festive,” she had explained), and the lights on the fake tree made the glass balls hanging from the branches sparkle. She was drinking something warm from a mug and she wouldn’t share it, even though I asked really nicely. “Cats can’t have chocolate,” she said, apologetically, but I didn't understand what that had to do with her drink.
“Isn’t it pretty?” she asked.
“It is,” I agreed.
“Leave it alone,” she said, seriously.
“I mean it, Freddie.”
She nodded, satisfied.
I do what I want, though.
Happy Caturday, Peeps! The Human Treat holiday is past, so it’s time for the Tree that Smells a Little Like the Snowman Treat Dispenser when Its Empty holiday. Speaking of which, it has been found! He shoved it under his bed for some reason. It’s hard to understand the mind of a cat sometimes, though I do try.