“What are we going to do about the cat and the Christmas tree? Mr. D wants to tear this motherfucker down.”

I bit my bottom lip, eyes blown wide as our feline menace tentatively climbed the tree we’d chosen from a nearby farm and painstakingly arranged in front of the living room window. 

Gus and I had shopped for lights and ornaments last weekend, bickering like an old married couple about white lights versus colorful ones and the ratio of bulbs to what he referred to as “fun” ornaments. 

“Can’t just stick a bunch of balls on the tree.” He’d winked and grabbed his junk through his joggers. “Too boring.”

I’d feigned shock at his “ball” handling in the middle of our local home goods store, but I’d agreed that balance was key and added an assortment of felt holiday-themed ornaments to our cart. We’d purchased our treats and set them aside for a week. 

Mr. Darcy, our rescue tabby cat, hadn’t seemed particularly interested in the bags we’d stacked in the corner. He’d meowed and sniffed, then hopped onto the window ledge to judge our neighbors…same as always.

But the tree was another story.

Mr. Darcy had pretty much decided our Noble fir belonged to him. 

“I don’t know,” I replied, scooping up a glittery tassel ball the cat usually adored. “Come out of the tree, Mr. Love Bug. Here’s a toy for you.” 

“Nice try. He’s committed to tree life, Rafey.” Gus snorted, setting his hands on his hips as the cat jumped to a higher branch. 

Let me just say…my man was unbearably handsome. Even in the ridiculous “ugly” sweater he’d worn for the high school’s faculty holiday party—Rudolph atop a snowy roof with flashing lights. Yes, it was truly hideous and yet somehow, Gus looked like a rockstar. Or a sexy hockey coach. 

“So…what do we do? We can’t let him commandeer our first Christmas tree. We’re the humans. We’re in charge here.” I didn’t sound very convincing to my own ears. “Aren’t we?” 

Gus rubbed his bearded jaw. “Yeah. I think so anyway. Let’s do some research.”

“What do you mean?” 

He slipped his cell from his pocket and scrolled. “Google, sunshine. Let’s see here…it says we can wrap the base of the tree in aluminum foil. Cats hate the sound and—” 

“Ew. No. Tacky.”

“Or…we could buy a baby gate.” Gus wrinkled his nose. “Or…apparently, most cats dislike citrus scents. They suggest putting orange peels on the lower branches.”

“Really?” I sighed heavily and flopped onto the chaise end of the sectional. “Ugh. No. We’re not terrorizing our cat.” 

Gus sat next to me, his knee brushing mine as he stared thoughtfully at the cat in the tree. “I’ve never had a tree of my own. One I bought with my money for my house…with myboyfriend.”

“I know. Same for me.” I rested my head on his shoulder. “This is special. And as much as I love Mr. Darcy, we can’t let him ruin this for us.”

“No, no. He’s not ruining anything, babe.” Gus squeezed my hand and lifted it to his lips, shifting to face me. “He’s part of a new tradition. He’s part of our…” 

His cheeks pinkened as his words trailed off. 

“What?” 

“Our family. Me and you and…Mr. D.” 

My eyes welled with unshed tears. I kissed our joined hands and nodded. “Yes.” 

“And since he’s core family, we’ll figure something out. We’ll cover the cord for the lights and restring the ornaments with ribbons. No hooks. And tinsel is out.” 

I smiled. “We didn’t buy any, but yes…I like where you’re going with this.”

“Good. Let’s do this.”

We made hot cocoa and hummed along to Christmas music while we made our new tree Mr. Darcy-safe. The haughty feline came out of hiding to supervise our efforts with his trademark impervious air, which involved a lot of licking of paws and side-eye till he eventually curled up on the sofa for a nap. 

“Now this is a good tree!” I finally declared, grinning like a mad man at the colorful blinking lights (Gus won that battle) and the tasteful ornaments we’d strung with red ribbons tied in bows. 

It was simple, but lovely. 

Gus wrapped his arms around me from behind and kissed the top of my head. “Love it. But I love you more.”

I turned and stood on tiptoes to kiss him. “I love you more, too.”

Mr. Darcy shot off the sofa just then, and darted halfway up the tree, his little orange face popping through an evergreen branch. “Meow.”

We shared a laugh…and a sigh. 

“Baby gate or orange peels?” Gus asked with a faux put-upon grumble. 

I chuckled. “We could get a cat tree. If he had his own, he might not care about this one.”
“Oh brother. The things you do for love.”

“And Christmas cheer,” I added. 

Gus snickered. “That too. Merry Christmas, Rafey.” “Merry Christmas, love.”