Hangdog

Someone who is a regular reader of the blog asked me recently what has happened to the cats.  Fear not, they are still here firmly ensconced in the bedrooms and charging downstairs for food once they know that Muttley has gone out for a walk or is safely asleep in his crate.  All you can hear on these furtive raids are the ding ding of the bells on their collars which I had acquired  some months ago in an attempt to stop the continual bringing in of mice and birds.  What actually happened was that Ronnie and Reggie, the neighbourhood bully boy cats, laid in wait for them as my two strode self consciously jingling into the garden.  The mice and birds episode only dried up because of the cold weather and the new deal of dwelling upstairs in Radiatorville.  But in this festive season there is an added dimension… Little Man announced recently that he knew Father Christmas was coming soon because he had heard the reindeer bells jingling in the night…

Of course, the festive season is upon us and as we always delay it until after Little Man’s birthday, which rather conveniently falls two weeks exactly before Christmas, it always comes upon us as an annual shock.  After a fun packed birthday party with 17 excited seven year olds, I turned to G who was on the second day of a festive hangover and still looking a bit shot away and said ‘It must be time to get the Christmas tree’…

Now I don’t know about any of you, but getting the Christmas tree has become a bit of a tradition in our family ever since we discovered a place near us which provides you with your very own hacksaw to chop down your selected tree.  This appeals to the testosterone in the household, and often the look of the tree is secondary only to the actual felling.  So regardless of the weather I feel obligated to go with them all – not only to make sure that all limbs are still intact by the time we leave, but that the tree a) fits in the house and b) it has some branches.

This year it was a little fraught, because none of us could agree on a tree and it was cold and boggy and Mummy’s sense of Christmas spirit was rapidly hankering after the alcoholic mulled wine variety and not the pine needle and woodchippings in hair sort.  After a while, and a little help from a Christmas elf with one front tooth and a tractor and chainsaw, we chopped down a tree and stuck it on the roof of the car with the aid of lots of rope and bungee cords, but which meant that we were trapped in the car and G had tied himself out of the car.  Letting down his window, G then attempted – Dukes of Hazzard style- to get in through said window.  This was not easy, as G is no longer as snake hipped as he likes to think he is, and the boys were well and truly Ho Ho Ho-ing by the time he sat red faced behind the wheel.

Getting it into the house required more acrobatics, and by the time the tree was actually up, we were all exhausted.

Going back to the cats.  When they were kittens we had no end of escapades with the Christmas tree.  For one, they hated the fairy we had at the top, and made it their mission to kill it at all costs.  Several fellings of fully decorated Christmas trees later and we dispensed with the rather bedraggled fairy and replaced it with a star which was much more acceptable.  Also along the wayside went any baubles covered in feathers, any glittery jewel type ornaments and certain types of tinsel.

Fearing that Muttley may also limit us to what we put up, we decided to leave the tree nude for a few days to get him used to the idea that his human nutters were now moving the outside in.  Rather concerned that he might use the tree as his very own poo corner, I kept a stern eye on him, but other than an initial attempt to eat the tree (after all, it had lots of sticks on it), Muttley seemed unphased by the new arrival.

This morning I tried out one bauble, and left it nonchalantly on one of the lower branches.  The puppy looked at it, head to one side, and came and sat by my heels.  ‘That’s mine’ I announced solemnly, and left the room.

An hour passed and still the bauble remained in situ.  I was in the kitchen and came back into the lounge to find a very quiet dog who had completely demolished his bed.  And the bauble had gone…

A severe telling off later, I went upstairs, and there on the third step was the bauble, carefully laid by all his precious things.

I have a horrible feeling this year that decorating the tree will be like Groundhog Day…