For about two months out of the year, we buy up anything we can find in the latest feline fashions over at WalMart, and we dress the cat up. This isn’t because we enjoy seeing her in cute outfits.
It’s so we can laugh at her.
Our cat cannot function with things attached to her. We probably exacerbated this dysfunction when we decided to keep her collar free, back in twenty-aught-eight. The collar-free decision goes back the whole, “she can leave whenever she wants” thing. If she decides to bolt out the door and never return, she will not be strangled on some chicken wire fence. Nor will anyone be able to call us to come fetch her. Kitty can either find her own way back (having found her own way “out”) or she can find a new family.
She’s the master of her own destiny.
So she generally lives her life completely in the nude, except for Christmas time. This is the time of year when local stores are full to the gills with terrifically sadistic pet costumes which we purchase by the armload, and immediately take home to torture the cat with. You saw some of our attempts in the previous post. Here is another (fabulous) outfit, and Kitty’s reaction:
As you can see, motor skills are usually a challenge for her when costumed-up. This is very entertaining for us. Kitty has been known to collapse and remain completely still for many minutes, or move incredibly slowly, or walk around the entire living room backwards when adorned with Christmas finery. Basically, she acts like she’s having a Kitty-stroke as soon as fabric and velcro get near her.
(Have you ever seen a cat walk backwards? I bet you haven’t. It’s amazing.)
Anyways, before you start feeling all sorry for her, know two things:
- We take all the clothes off after a few minutes of high-intensity ridicule, at which time she returns to normal. (HEALED!)
- She gets hers.
As soon as the Christmas tree goes up (and it is officially up as of 3 p.m. today) she begins to climb and nest in it. As it is a fake tree, we ignore her. We allow her to climb and nest to her heart’s content. She can’t break anything, or set anything on fire, or catch her death of pine-tree poisoning (<—-not real). What she can do, however, is lurk in the fake branches of the fake Christmas tree, hidden from view behind the fake twigs and sprigs.
Then, as we relax on the colorful couch, late at night, practically falling asleep as we re-watch Christmas movies and listen to Dino croon Christmas carols, Kitty springs from the depths of the tree! Her sharp little claws outstretched, she glides through the air with feline-Christmas poise and grace. She lands on or near the now insanely startled couch potatoes and maybe offers a quick swipe at their face. Then she darts away, back up the tree, before we can lay a finger on her.
This action is repeated ad infinitum until the tree is packed up and put away. So, basically, every five minutes for a month or more.
(That’s 8,928 times, in case you were wondering.)
You can call the tree-nesting Kitty’s revenge for the month-long humiliation of cheap cat costumes. Or you can call a pink-Santa-hat-with-earholes our payback for last year’s multiple pouncings.