I know that last year I wrote at length about the Midgardians’ preparations for Yule. Don’t think for a minute that because I haven’t nattered on and on this year that I haven’t been helping the human female with the preparations.
When, thinking that the framer had the details from the last on on file, she didn’t spell out that she wanted her grand-nephew’s birth announcement to be framed vertically, without a mat, I filled in the missing details.
I helped with the yule cards.
Let’s see, the card for the retired deacon in the nursing home goes in the envelope for the mother-in-law, and the card for the mother-in-law goes to…
I also made sure that the postal clerk was out of the more traditional stamps, the kind with the lady and the baby on them.
I don’t know who these strangely round-headed people are.
I helped decorate the tree. That took almost all of a whole day! This is how we do it around here:
Before starting, it’s vital that the tree be firmly seated in the stand.
I bent the cap just a bit so that one of the screws is frozen in place. The tree will always list at least 4 degrees to starboard now, but since the humans themselves are more than slightly “off,” I figure it suits. Plus, it’s just fun to watch them bicker about which way it needs to be adjusted.
Next: Check the lights. This string is fine, but I twiddled the other so that one of the four component strands is out. One of the colored strings “inexplicably” is all lit on one end and dark the rest of the way. The human female says it shouldn’t work that way and spent an inordinate amount of time trying to sort it before giving up and fetching a new string.
The feline can usually be induced to chase the strings as they’re put on, which will probably take out a few more of the little bulbs.
Stop whining, humans–I am helping you do your part to conserve energy.
Then we put the ornaments on. The human female likes the shiny glass kind. The fragile shiny glass kind. She dropped and broke one of the very dark green ones that the human male and I really like, so I retaliated by nudging a blue one off the tree. (The floor was quite crunchy there for a bit!)
I was going to leave it at that, but then this snooty, skirted tart with a shiny hat and a harp gave me a dirty look, like I wasn’t good enough to handle tiny bells and glass fruits and veggies and the little wooden cherries that go near the top of the tree.
Not so fancy now, eh, b*tch?
Now, what to do with the aftermath? Hide the evidence? Tuck into slippers? Drop into tomorrow’s oatmeal?
I know! I’ll hang it on the tree, and let the human female wonder which other one of her precious baubles is missing. She’ll drive herself crazy trying to remember if there was another apple and how many of the solid burgundy ones there are supposed to be…*
She’ll be too distracted to poke the presents under the tree. Just another service I provide.
* Do you know, I think it is a conspiracy larger even than my mischief that, at this time of the year, when the adults are worn thin and tired and stressed, and the small people are bouncing off the walls with sugar and excitement and scarcely-repressed greed, that all of these clumsy, butter-fingered mortals are brainwashed into handling bubble-thin glass and dangling it multiple meters off the floor. It’s a recipe for carnage and recriminations. I love it.