I hate fucking cats, and due to my kind, sweet nature I've ended up with two of them. While they may look all sweet and innocent, once the Christmas Tree goes up they turn into psychopaths. View exhibit B:
They are really vicious fucking tree killers, these cats o'mine. Last year they killed a perfectly innocent 8' tall pre-lit tree. By the time Christmas came it looked like something that was swirling around in the movie Twister. Only 1/4 of the lights worked, and I almost had to get stitches from the glass ornament I stepped on in the freakin' bathroom of all place.
I tried the whole water bottle trick. Martini, or crystal meth cat as she is known, is so fast that as soon as she saw that damn water bottle she is out of there. You would need a super soaker to even get a drop of water on her. But when the bottle wasn't around, forget it. In the tree she went until she saw the spray bottle.
Oliver was a different story. He is shall we say a little overweight. View exhibit C:
He decided that getting wet wasn't nearly as bad as running, so he just learned to like it. He'd even turn his head so that I'd get both sides.
I hate fucking cats.
So being the computer savvy person that I am I turned to the Internet this year on how to make my cats not think the Christmas tree is a jungle gym.
Most searches came up with the same results.
You.Are.Fucked.
Some people with cats offered up advice. "Put a fence around your tree." These are cats, FFS! It would have to be a damn cage around the tree to keep them out. Another helpful soul told me to spray it with lemon juice, as the cats hate the smell.
Oliver just decided that the tree must be food and began eating it.
I hate fucking cats.
Every day I would come home to a new catastrophy. One day there wasn't a single ornament on the tree. Another day Martini seemed to be committing Kitty Cat suicide and was half way strung up, meowing her head off. Then the really fun days were when the whole entire tree was just laying in the floor.
This year I swore I wasn't going to even have a tree. No fucking way was I going though that shiiat again.
Then my Mom, who sold Christmas trees from our garden center for years offered up some advice. "Get a real tree. A Balsam. Those are pretty tough, and would probably prick the hell out of them if they tried to climb it."
This actually made sense, in a if they love climbing a fake tree they'll really hate a real tree kind of way.
Wha?
Ok, so it didn't make sense, but it still kind of did. Considering how much I love decorating, I just had to have a tree, so off I went to find an environmental tree store that replaces every tree sold with two.
This was fucking war God Dammit. I wanted my Christmas Tree.
So I went out and bought all new ornaments. Plastic like ornaments that wouldn't leave gapping wounds on my feet when stepped on. I bought twinkle lights that maybe wouldn't cause as much attention as the chasers that were on my dearly departed Pre-lit Christmas Tree.
Guess what?
It fucking worked.
Oh, Martini tried her ass off at first. The needles must have been really scratchy, because everytime she tried to enter the bottom of the tree she shoot out of there like a bat out of hell. Oliver tried maybe once, then decided Fuck This and just pretened to be in the tree by laying on the tree skirt.
Ha! I had won.
Then, much to my dismay, another problem arose. I think they thought if that bitch is bringing in shit we can't climb, we'll make her replace the water every freakin' hour.
Yes, they drink almost every drop of water the second I fill it up.
It is hell on a litter box I tell ya.
It also really pisses me off, because usually unless I give them bottled water they go on like a kitty water strike and walk around with little signs talking about cruelty to animals.
I hate fucking cats.
So they may have won one of the battles, but it seems as if I'm going to win the war. Yes, I do have to put every ornament that is two feet from the bottom of the tree back on, and yes I have to put water in the damn tree stand a million times a day, and yes I have to scoop the damn litter box on the hour, but I have my Tree FFS!
Up on deck for tomorrow: Ghost of Presents Past II: Electric Boogalo.
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