Three French hens, two turtledoves, and my cat in our Christmas tree…
I remember that Christmas well. Coming home exhausted from a long day at the clinic, I called out for our kitten, Sebastian. Sebastian was also known as Bud, Buddy, Lil Guy, and Don’t-think-for-a-second-that-he-won’t-do-it Guy. He was the quintessential kitten — into everything. And I mean everything!
So when Sebastian didn’t show up right away, I knew he was up to something. I looked everywhere — under the beds, on top of shelves, in the manger. Yes, I said manger. The year before, my brother-in-law had made a beautiful ceramic manger for my husband and me. Of course Sebastian thought it was his, and proceeded to knock over camels, sheep, Mary and Joseph so that he could curl up in the straw next to baby Jesus. I think he felt slighted that no barn cats showed up in traditional nativity scenes. Point taken.
But there was the nativity, with no additional characters. I couldn’t imagine where he was. Then I had the feeling that someone, or something, was watching me. As I slowly turned, I saw two golden eyes staring at me from the middle of the Christmas tree. There sat Sebastian, happy as could be, perched on a branch deep in the tree. I’m sure he thought we had brought it home just for him.