Betty Boop is Dead

Yes, Betty, you should look worried.

Archie (a cat), hates our Christmas tree. Or, just maybe, he loves it so much that he wants to become one with it and I (not a cat) might be interpreting this love as destructive behavior.  Either way, thanks to Archie, our tree looks like hell.

We stopped getting real trees after a mysterious blight caused the prices in Brooklyn tree lots everywhere to skyrocket. 

Combine this with Seth’s discomfort with the equation of drying greenery plus electricity and, suddenly, a fake tree seemed appropriate. Realistic fakes were a new concept back then but we found one that looked legit. Or, that’s what we chose to believe. We also vowed that this was only until the prices of real trees returned to acceptable levels. Thirty years and a few incarnations of artificial tree later, we’re still faking it.

Enter Archie the Cat. We adopted him last November and despite our doting, he feared if he wasn’t polite, he’d be out on his little cat ass, spending new Year’s Eve back at the shelter. He might have thought the tree, with its’ multitude of temptations, was some sort of test. So, Archie circled and sniffed but didn’t do any of the things those naughty internet cats do like roosting in the branches, swinging at the decorations or even tipping the whole thing to the floor. 

Don't get too comfy in that
champagne glass, Betty.

We were thrilled, assuming we’d been blessed with a miracle kitten who was charming in every way yet had no interest in Christmas trees (this, obviously, being a huge asset on cat resumes). The closest the tree got to getting wrecked was after Seth had a third martini at a party and tried to slow dance with it once we got home.

So, we bragged to our friends --many of whom had awful cat-related tree stories -- that Archie understood to stay away from it because he was that smart. As readers of this blog, you know that if Szolds brag, they will be punished…

Acting coy will not save you.

So, this year, not only did Archie appear to be on some wild hallucinogen while the tree was being assembled but he broke the sound barrier racing around the room, attempted to string the lights all by himself, picked up ornaments in his mouth and ran away with them and dipped a paw in everyone’s eggnog. What is happening, we wondered! Why had dignity and restraint turned to mayhem? Why was our little genius behaving like a total maniac (or, an actual cat)?

It got worse. Archie enjoys snoozing midway up the tree or drowsily cleaning himself on a 'shelf" of branches, flailing wildly at the fragile baubles and clambering straight up the side of the tree in one swift ascent. He’s also removed every ornament from the bottom branches, happily rolling them into the far corners of the house.

And pouting will get you nowhere.

Soon, there were sharp slivers of paper-thin glass all over the floor. My dust buster lost its charge from working overtime and we had to put away special ornaments, including precious specimens made by the kids and already held together by yellowing tape. Cowering downstairs, we hear crashing and tinkling every night, followed by the clatter of whatever he’s destroyed bouncing down each step as it becomes a plaything for this madman.

Yes, I'd be pissed, too.

The tree is a disheveled mess. Every morning, I pick up more ornaments he’s kicked around, readjust the lights and bend the branches back into position. Every night Archie does all he can to undo my work. Today, we found Betty Boop in pieces on the stairs. We thought we’d removed all surviving fragile ornaments but Archie found Betty and murdered her, leaving her carcass in silvery shards under the coffee table.

If Archie weren’t so cute, this would be more of a problem. Clearly, he feels secure in our love and doesn’t fear eviction. In fact, I am guilty of chuckling indulgently at many of his hijinks. When poor Seth recently dropped a delicate ornament, I screamed bloody murder at him so his nose is a bit out of joint about this whole double standard type situation but he, too, is enchanted by all things pussycat though he will vehemently deny that.

Archie says hi.

Uh-oh, I just heard a crash from upstairs….enjoy your pre-Christmas prep, friends! And thank God it comes but once a year!

Fightin' Around the Christmas Tree

Rockin’ around the Christmas tree….When Charlie was at college, we started the practice of putting up our Christmas tree on the Friday after Thanksgiving. School schedules often interfere with family traditions and, since we enjoy decorating the tree together, it was either do it right after the leftovers were put away or wait until so close to Christmas that there wasn’t enough time with the tree to make all that work worthwhile. 

At the Christmas party hop…College days are behind us and Charlie is a new husband yet, this year, based on everyone’s busy schedules, tree day arrived right on time. So, just as the Thanksgiving dishes were finally washed and digesting was officially over, the moment felt right.

Mistletoe hung where you can see…Let’s move the end table and chairs out of the room, boys…let’s send poor Dad into the attic for the cartons and boxes while Mom grits her teeth and bakes cookies so if Martha Stewart barges in to measure festivity levels in our home, we get a good grade. And, hey--Tom and Charlie, don’t forget---it’s time to painfully rehash sibling rivalries and childhood vendettas as favorite ornaments are unwrapped and hung with care on pine boughs that, yet again this year, have nearly scratched off both of Dad’s corneas.

Every couple tries to stop…The difference this year is that Charlie’s wife, Anastasia, is with us on tree day for the first time. She may not yet be aware that Szolds often say “I love you” by screaming themselves hoarse over hot cocoa. Anastasia is also about to learn that Mom expresses her deep affection for her family with a crying fit or two. Often brought about by an artifact of her children’s youth making an appearance, Mom is easily unhinged since she’s already deeply overwrought by repeated failures to recreate scenes from mainstream America as dreamt up by the minds of the sadists who write for the Hallmark Channel.

You will get a sentimental feeling when you hear...This year we took it a step further and wove politics into the mix thereby upping the time frame for shouting, hand waving, eye rolling and, of course, Mom’s crying. Anastasia, having prepared for this by studying books about conflict resolution in wartime, stood up, chose an ornament and began decorating. The shiny object in her hand distracted us and we followed suit, slowly becoming absorbed in our project. Tom and Charlie sought out their first baby ornaments which prompted more tears from Mom but the brave daughter-in-law knew what to do...bustling into the kitchen, she freshened the marshmallows in everyone’s mug and patted us all on the heads. “That’s a good girl,” she said to Mom, pressing a tissue into her hand so she’d stop using her sleeve and ruffling what’s left of Dad’s hair to encourage him to add a string of lights to a bare spot in the back.

Voices singing…Bravely stepping between the boys who suddenly remembered they were supposed to be fighting, she tossed a handful of silver-wrapped Hershey kisses into the air and, with the laser pointer, diverted not only Tito the Cat from dismantling the tree’s bottom branches but also distracted Tom and Charlie as -- with chocolate on their lips -- they scurried off to chase the beam of light with the cat.

Let’s be jolly…Before we realized it, the tree was complete and the negativity dispelled. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, we sat back and admired our work. While the men nibbled on treats and happily batted at the shiny bells and balls, I thanked my lucky stars that we have Anastasia in the mix. Not only did she help us refocus upon the task at hand but also restored the theme of peace on earth that’s generally encouraged at this time of year.

Deck the halls with boughs of holly…I hope those of you who get, shall we say, a bit emotional around this time of year and before the conversation inevitably turns to whether there’s truth to the allegations that Santa’s been sexually harassing the elves for years -- you get yourselves a great daughter-in-law like I have.