Of Cats and Christmas Trees

Putting up the Christmas tree was quite a production in my family. It took trips to five different tree lots to find an evergreen that met with my father's approval. We usually wound up with a Scotch pine. Their knotty, crooked stems engendered much un-Yule like cussing as my parents wrestled them into our unyielding tree stand.

Once the tree was up --albeit usually with a definite list -- the magic began. Twinkling tree lights reflected in my daddy's glasses. He sipped on his "toddy," ho-ho-ho'd and crooned Christmas carols in his lovely baritone. His favorite was "Jingle Bell Rock." He could never remember the words, and made up new ones every time he sang it. My mother carefully placed the ornaments they had collected together. Each one had a story.

Today, putting up the tree is a weekend chore I squeeze in between making dinner and doing laundry. The only tree lot I visit is the one in my closet. The "perfect" tree is the rather worn four-year old pre-lit that comes in three parts and slips effortlessly into place in minutes.

But that's not to say that tree decorating is short on drama -- or magic.

When the kitties entered my life seven years ago, the most fragile of my treasured heirloom ornaments, some inherited from my parents, others carefully saved for and bought every pay-day, went into storage to be gazed at lovingly as I placed the sturdier ornaments on the branches.

The year my mother passed away during the holidays I looked at them a little longer than usual.

For the cats, the Christmas tree was a great big cat toy decorated with smaller cat toys. I frequently came home to find the tree denuded and kittens slumbering peacefully amidst the boughs. The lights twinkled in their huge green and amber eyes as they used to twinkle in my daddy's glasses. It was still magical.

Then came December 2005. We found ourselves in our big new empty house in a new town. We had no furniture. No tree. No ornaments. Hurricane Katrina had taken all of it. And, boy, did we need a tree.

With a week to go until Christmas, I found a cheap pre-lit tree at Wal-Mart and a handful of ornaments at the dollar store. That night I pulled my air mattress up to the tree and drifted off to the tune of rustling branches and tiny cheap apple ornaments bouncing off the floor and walls. It may have been my favorite Christmas tree ever.

I still have that sad little tree, its limbs bent from four Christmases of supporting my kitties' growing weight. My ornament collection is growing, too.

My current tree is a reflection of my past and my present. I found five of my old ornaments buried in Katrina muck. Gold covered chocolate coins and St. Nicholas figures speak to my Croatian heritage. Santas painted on oyster and crab shells recall my hometown of Biloxi. Beautiful pewter renderings of Hattiesburg's architectural attractions pay homage to my new home. And, of course, there are kitty ornaments everywhere.

The cats are older now. Except for Koko's enthusiastic leap to the top the day the tree went up, this holiday season it appears that they will spend more time snoozing under the tree than they will climbing in it.

But the lights still twinkle in their eyes. I sip my toddy, place my ornaments and sing "Jingle Bell Rock." I make up the words because I've never learned the right ones.

And it's all still pure magic.