Smokey and the Holidays, part two

If Smokey the cat thought he died and went to Heaven for Thanksgiving, he sure did an encore for the following Christmas.  We had decided when we rescued him it would be better for him to become an indoor cat; not half in and half out, but all the way inside.  He didn't seem to mind this.  He no longer had to "sing for his supper" so to speak, and it must have been nice to be warm all the time, with all his meals delivered, some even cooked.  The only hunting he did in the last few weeks almost bagged him a turkey leg.

In those days, we had real Christmas trees, and we loved the fresh evergreen smell they wafted into the house. The tree that year had an unintended effect on Smokey, who must have thought he was outside again.  It's hard to explain, but the tree had the same effect as a giant sprig of catnip.  He would run under the tree, which was in the corner,  out the other end, then through several rooms in the house.  We yelled when he did this, and he seemed to get the message, before we started decorating the tree.

But he didn't, really get the message.

We were in the kitchen cleaning  when we heard a crash, with the sound of glass ornaments breaking, and water spilling onto the living room floor.  Seconds later, we saw Smokey calmly licking his wet paws, which fortunately weren't cut.

We righted the tree, cleaned  the mess, then I got an eye hook for the corner seam of the wall, and some mono filament fishing line to anchor the tree to it.

Smokey did get the message this time, and never longed for the great outdoors again.

I followed this procedure each year after that, and when we moved out of that house, I left the eye hook in the corner, in case next owner had a cat and a Christmas tree. 

Smokey and the Holidays, part one

You already know about our white, black and gray cat from his escapades with our Pekingese, Flair, a few post ago.  He was much more of a comedian than that, which I'll tell you about now.

Smokey came into our lives the Friday before Thanksgiving when we still lived in our first house in Glen Rock, NJ.  If my wife hadn't had a soft spot, and not brought him home that weekend, I  don't think he would have survived it.  He spent the weekend in the Egyptian vet's hospital to get his body fluids back to normal.  I guess he used one of his nine lives that weekend, but by Monday, he was as good as new, and checking out our house, and evading Flair by hopping atop this or that chair or piece of furniture.

The following Thursday, Thanksgiving, we were spending it quietly; just Genna, my wife, her grandmother, the dog, Flair, and the new cat, Smokey.  We made a full course dinner anyway, despite the short guest list.  After thew main course, we retired to the living room.  Grandma took a nap.  I was in a chair in the corner, without a view of the dining room table.  Genna went into the kitchen, I presumed to start washing a few things, to which I said:

"Gen, relax.  I'll start the cleanup in a little while."
"That's OK.  I'll just rinse a few plates," she replied.

Unbeknownst to me, Genna went out to the garbage outside, and I heard to rustle of silverware on the dining room table.

I said again,

"Gen, I'll take care of it, relax."

I kept hearing the silverware moving, and I decided to investigate.

As I walked into the dining room, I saw Smokey dragging a drumstick over the silverware, and onto the floor.  I was able to grab the drumstick before Smokey could run off with into a quiet corner to feast.  He ran away from me, and turned around with a look that said 'ahh shucks'.

Not having a cat for a while made me forget their unlimited mobility inside the house.