We were going to make Trudy Dress-Up Time an event like last year, because nothing says Christmas tradition like drunkenly talking with friends about current events while hanging ornaments from a mannequin’s tit, but then I got SICK so Henry basically did it all himself. But let’s face it—it’s probably better that way. Especially when it comes to putting up lights. I don’t fuck with that peasant shit.
We never started putting up trees until Chooch was 2, so by then, my four original cats were already old enough to not really give a shit about it. We never had a single incident! At most, Marcy would sometimes lay under it. Last year, when we introduced Trudy as our official tree of the season, we were, for the first time ever, a pet-less household. Drew and Penelope are both a little over a year old now, but they still act like pernicious assholes, so I have been super worried about how they’d react.
I voiced my concern so Henry said he would strap Trudy to the wall if he had to.
“How are you going to do that?” I asked honestly, because no really how?
“ERIN, I CAN PRETTY MUCH DO ANYTHING!” he cried, giving me those crazy mountain man eyes he gets when I’ve given him one too many things to do in one day. lol forever.
Don’t worry. I kept a close eye on him to make sure he didn’t grab Trudy by the pussy. NOT ON MY WATCH, MOTHERFUCKER.
My only contribution was wrapping her with garland, which Henry yelled at me for because “LIGHTS ARE SUPPOSED TO GO ON FIRST, IDIOT.” Sorry, Father Christmas!
Chooch looks promising as an option for an auxiliary tree….
Thankfully, the cats were mostly blasé about the whole ordeal, save for several sniffs and curious peeks into the bins of decorations. But today was a brand new day, and it was like they were seeing it for the first time. However, most of their fascination lies with the tree skirt – Santa’s hat has a pom-pom on it and hoo-boy is it enticing. There’s been a lot of running and sliding into Trudy and bunny-kicking of Santa’s hat.
Trudy has a new wig for this season. Now she looks a bit more sophisticated and less like a candy cane floozy.
Whatever that means. I’m sick, remember.
Praying for a normal Christmas tree. Chooch hates Trudy. OH WELL, SUCKER. Stop trying to make me conform, tiny patriarchy!!