I have a penchant for vintage type things (see: my husband) and a few years ago while trolling a consignment store I found the coolest old stuffed Santa.
Jack didn't agree.
"What was that movie where they had they evil little doll that killed people?"
"Chuckie?"
"Yeah - Chuckie! That's Chuckie's Christmas! Get that thing out of here."
Well, maybe he IS like Chuckie, since he keeps turning up somehow.
My Santa (I lovingly refer to him as "creepy Santa") doesn't stand up well on his own, to I stuck him in a nice supportive corner.
Enter CWC (the feline version, not the one on my paycheck).
By some Christmas miracle, the cat has not bothered the tree or ornaments much at all. We took precautions; we created a restricted zone on the bottom branches for sturdy or squishy ornaments. The top half, tied to the wall, is very shiny. It has all the glass and ceramics. We figured it would stand up to whatever she could throw at it (her body, Sluggo, you know, whatever she could), but she seemed only to appreciate it as a nice place to hide beneath and tease Mater.
Every morning this week, however, I woke up to this:
Poor Santa don't get no respect.
Jack was fine with this, of course.
"Leave him there," was his preference.
But this morning, his beloveds were violated. The regal cowboy Santa had been unceremoniously displaced from his position of honor. Unbroken, but definitely disgraced.
"Listen, cat," Jack addressed Princess Kitty under the tree. "There are Santa's you can mess with and Santa's you can't. Get it straight."
1 comment:
I have to agree with Jack. That Santa is pretty creepy.
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