Christmas Surprises
Ah, Christmas. It’s a wonderful time of year. The MOST wonderful for some of us. Whether you view Christmas as a religious holiday or a secular one, it is recognized worldwide as a day of sharing.
I have some amazing memories of Christmas. Like the year my uncle dressed up as Santa and surprised us small revelers. We were ecstatic! Though I believe we all knew who was really in that costume. As children do, we simply refused to see the reality, preferring to bask in the pure joy and magic of the moment. I don’t even remember what my present was because that was not the important part of that particular Christmas.
The year we traveled to Texas to spend the holidays with relatives was another very fun memory. Amid all the adults, there were only two children: my cousin and me. We laughed and played, hung out after dark (when we were supposed to be in bed asleep!) with a little battery-operated lantern, and played games. I hated to go home.
As an adult, I was seldom surprised at Christmas. My husband, along with my children, usually ended up giving too many hints so I almost always knew what was in the package long before I tore open the present. However, one year he managed to pull it off. I think he chose to NOT confide in the kids to maximize his chances of a surprise. When I opened the rather large box, I truly was surprised – pleasantly so, I must say – with a fur coat. And I loved it. I wore it everywhere; ballgames, the lumberyard, the feed store. Everywhere. After the initial blush of owning a mink began to wear off, I realized how pretentious that must appear, so I moderated it down to special occasions. Still, it is one of my most prized possessions.
Not all my childhood Christmas memories are pleasant. The year our house burned to the ground was not technically during the Christmas season, but it was soon after. I remember everything I got that year because soon after I opened those presents, they were all gone. For a small child, that was traumatizing in many ways. It was, by far, the worst Christmas in my experience so far.
There have been other unpleasant things happen during this most wonderful time of year. When my children were small, we had a cat that was, by my way of thinking, spewed up from the depths of Hell. Why it was an inside cat I will never understand. But, one night, as we slept, the cat chose to see how much damage it could manage to wreck on our highly decorated, well lighted, fourteen-foot tall Christmas tree.
I’m not certain if she jumped from the balcony onto the top of the tree and worked her havoc downward, or if she began at the bottom and scrambled upward to the top. However, it happened, she achieved her goal of toppling the tree down across the living room floor, shattering all the precious decorations in the process. We awoke to the sound of the tree crashing against furniture and loud, terrified squalling from the cat.
It was a mess, and it took quite a while to repair the damage. Because many of the ornaments were heirlooms, I gathered up all the broken pieces and painstakingly glued them back together. I still hang many of them on my tree each year. Some I simply lay about decoratively because I don’t think they would survive another fall. (By the way, this happened more than once. I was none too upset when that cat was no longer in our lives!)
I have several similar stories involving animals and Christmas trees but none of my cat stories can rival that of my best friend’s. Her family had an old cat, Kitty. She had been sickly for a while and the family was certain she was ready to give up the ghost. Apparently, she was not ready. So, the family simply moved around her wherever she decided to curl up to sleep, which she did most of the time. Occasionally, she would wake up, move to the food and water bowls, then go back to one of her favorite spots to sleep for a few more hours.
When it came time to decorate for Christmas, the family put the tree up, got it decorated, put up all the cute seasonal items, all the time simply working around wherever the dear old cat wanted to be.
Later, the daughter asked, “Mom, where’s Kitty?”
Mom: I don’t know. I haven’t seen her.
Daughter: I haven’t seen her for quite a while.
Dad: I’m sure she’s just asleep somewhere.
(That was, after all, just about all she did. She spent most of her time sleeping)
The next day, the daughter asked again about the cat and no one seemed to have seen her. This set up a full-scale search. All of her regular places were searched, then any new ones she might have decided she liked. No luck. There were lots of calls of “Kitty, Kitty.”
No reply.
The search continued.
Later that day, the family decided that old Kitty must have somehow slipped outside into the cold night. She would not survive that, but no amount of calling brought her back inside.
They gave up the search. It was late so the Christmas lights were turned on and the family sat down to enjoy the sight and relax. Just as Dad sat, his eyes fell upon something under the tree, and a groan escaped his lips.
“Look,” he pointed.
There, under the tree, amid the pretty packages, lying on the pristine white tree skirt meant to emulate snow, lay Kitty. Dead. Very dead. She had found the perfect place for her final snooze.
Just like the story of the Nativity, the story of Dead Kitty is recited each year at their home as they put up the tree, in remembrance of their pet. As my friend says, it is the gift that just keeps on giving!
Do you have a story of Christmas Past that you would like to share? I’d love to hear it.
