Our Yule tree is up! Hurrah!
Cat Daddy insisted on choosing the biggest and puffiest tree of the lot, then, when it wouldn’t fit in the house, complained that “we” had made an error of judgement, but it was definitely worth all the pain and heartache. Something about decorating a festive tree caresses the soul in a way that you wouldn’t understand unless you actually do it, although Louis Catorze didn’t appear to agree; he showed mild curiosity and interest, but this lasted all of ten seconds before he clambered onto his daddy’s lap and fell asleep. And long may his indifference continue: I would be very cross indeed to come home one day and find our beautiful tree toppled, chewed, urinated upon or worse. (Actually, there isn’t really anything worse than “urinated upon”, is there? That’s about as bad as it gets.)
I couldn’t resist a photo of our tree topper, which Cat Granny gave me a few years ago (although not for this purpose, I suspect). I think this pretty much sums up the hierarchy in this household, with Le Roi at the uppermost point and the rest of us … well … wherever.