Christmas at my house is no longer about the tree, the lights, or the presents.
It is about Halo.
Obviously.
I spent the afternoon being a responsible adult: wrapping gifts, ticking names off my list, trying not to eat my own body weight in shortbread. I had the tissue paper fluffed just right, presents bagged, tags on, everything organized in neat little clusters on the floor. All respectable and festive.
Enter Halo.
She watched me from a safe distance at first, with that slow blink that says, I see what your doing here, but you forgot the most important part…me.
The moment I turned my back to grab another roll of tape, I heard it.
Crinkle.
Shuffle.
Silence.
I turned around, and the carefully arranged gift bag for an actual human person was… alive. The tissue paper puffed, wobbled, then parted like the world’s smallest dramatic curtain. Then two big feline eyes blinked out at me from the depths of the bag.
Halo was the present.
The bag rocked. The handles twisted. The gift tipped sideways.
Halo settled, turned exactly three circles like a dog who had lost the plot, then curled into a perfect furry cinnamon bun right on top of the actual present. She tucked her paws under, gave a satisfied huff, and stared at me as if to say:
“This is mine now. You may leave.”
I tried to reason with her.
“This gift is not for you.”
Blink.
“You cannot nap on someone’s present.”
Blink. Slow, offended.
“You have three beds, two blankets, a cat stand and an entire couch.”
At this point she yawned so wide I could practically see the word “Peasant” written on her tongue.
I reached for the bag. The bag scooted away with a determined rustle as Halo shifted her weight, claws engaging like tiny, smug grappling hooks. Every attempt I made to adjust the tissue paper was treated as a personal attack.
So now I have:
One slightly crushed but very festive present
A bag that lists sideways like a drunk elf
Tissue paper that looks like it lost a fight with a blender
A cat who has decided she is the gift
Honestly, at this point I am tempted to just leave her in there and write on the tag:
To: [Recipient Name]
From: Tia
Bonus gift: Cat hair
Of course, the second I gave up and picked a different bag, Halo climbed out, did a full body stretch, and wandered off.
Ten minutes later, she came back and chose a different bag.
Apparently I run a seasonal pop up called “Try-On Christmas Bags Like They Are Designer Cat Beds.”
In case you are wondering, this is how I get her to leave the bags alone. I give her a box.
All the best,
Tia
