Alright. Let's all stand up....

So - - let's all try something together. This will be fun, I promise, and only as challenging as you make it.

Are you wearing shoes? Take them off, please. And socks. No socks allowed - this is part of the fun. Does your hair look good? Do something to make it the opposite of good, it can be something subtle, but give yourself a bad hair moment just for now. Just for this moment. I promise I won't keep you here forever.

Alright, so, you're barefoot, standing up, and you have bad hair? Right on. Let's go.

Pretend you have an acorn trying to embed itself in your right foot. Are you there? Okay, now stand on your tiptoes, bend your knees. Walk. You might find that raising your arms up and slightly out to the sides like you're pretending to be the Abominable Snowman helps. Sticking your backside out might help you maintain your balance as well, but just walk like this. Actually, just go ahead and do the arm and butt thing. Oh - - limp thanks to the acorn in your right foot, and if you want to get fancy, add a hop. I know you're going to rock this.

Isn't it fun?

Welcome to my walk back from the mailbox yesterday. Please do not ask why I was barefoot.

Of that which didn't quite make it...

We've made it into the post-holiday zone, y'all! Every resident of Casa Didgeridoo is unscathed (if a little bit sick of sweets) and in spite of a frantic December, Christmas wound up rocking socks. Well - with one glaring exception: My white Christmas tree. (Oh, yeah....)

Jupiter Jones got to the tree in the bedroom, pretty much completely effing destroying the right side. Taking the tree down in this state would be a challenge on many levels, as he managed to reach a new height of entanglement in the lights. Apparently. Hell, I don't know, but the thing's toast and I've got to untoast it before I can get it back into its box. As I write, I am looking at a top branch that found its way to the middle, where it was wound up tighter than anyone's most private business in the lights. Those lights are a combination of the ones from the layer upon which this branch has landed and all the others from above, and they've been braided into something resembling the most intricate French braid ever. I don't know how he did it, I do not want to know how he did it, nor do I care how he did it. I only know that next year I am duck taping every last element of this mofo into place or simply putting up a cardboard cutout of an adorably decorated white tree.

The real kicker is that Jupiter laid such epic waste to the side I can see from my favorite spot on the bed, the one where I read, write, study, and had taken a rather strong liking to enjoying the sight of the tree. It's like he did it to taunt me. Paranoid? Me? No, darlings, I'm honest. Call me crazy, but this is uncanny.

I'll be setting it back up today and rigging up a system of barricades, booby traps, and hurdles all down the way to the bedroom to ensure a possibility of getting to bask in the glory of the tree a little bit more before New Year's Day. Taping sheets of aluminum foil to the floor is nowhere near being out of the question. Kitty cat repelling suggestions are most welcome!

Gobsmacked...

Thank goodness for tall, lighted curio cabinets:

Look how relieved Totsi the Dog is! No more Christmas tree drama. We have a tree that Jupiter Jones can't destroy, featuring breakables secured behind glass, and all it took to get to this place was for me to lose my mind a little bit and reach a beautiful point of desperation. "What can he not scale? What do I have that's tall enough? How can I win?"

Booyah! Behold, the Christmas Curio and one very bewildered Jupiter. That is the look of a cat who has just been, ahem, pwned.

I'm still gloating.

Tree'd...

(Pardon the cheesey photo edit - I couldn't resist.)

So I've told you all about young master Jupiter Jones and his fascination with the Christmas tree, right? You know all about this, yes? Like Didgeridoo Boy, a lot of you might have asked, "Oh, you didn't actually catch the cat in the act, so how do you know he did that? How do you know he jumped from the back of a chair into the tree and went down through all the branches?"

I'll tell you how I know. Friday, as I was just about to head out the door to leave for my first weekend of yoga teacher training, I realized the bedroom door was open. When I went to close it, who should be struggling to keep himself nestled in the branches about one tier down from the top of the tree? Why, it was precious little Jupiter Jones. I'm guessing he jumped up there from the bed.

I don't remember much about my reaction other than it was loud and smattered with the "F word". Beloved little Jupiter super-ejected/teleported out from the tree and went directly under the bed. Do I feel a little bit bad about scaring him out of not only the tree, but his wits as a bonus? Maybe. Actually, yes, I do feel a little guilty - - but just a little. Getting him out from under the bed took a little bit of doing, and he was still oh-shit goggle-eyed when I left. But, you know, we have to discipline our children and sometimes that might mean scaring the ever living bejeezus out of them. Perhaps I overdid it a little bit by marching in place so hard I shook the house before I started trying to get darling, blessed Jupiter out from under the bed, but - you know, we live in the moment, and in that moment I was *pissed*.

Adorable, sweet, blessed little Jupiter Jones (bless him) is now on a hard core mission to get into the bedroom and back into the tree. Right now, he has draped himself rather dramatically across the floor in front of the bedroom door with one paw reaching toward where it will open - if only, if only it would open. He resorted to this after a boisterous round of lamentations which even included something that sounded like a yodeling rooster might. I have to hand it to him - he's good. But he's not good enough to convince me that he needs to be near the Christmas tree.

Today I'll be putting up a small tree out of his reach in the living room, which should prove immensely entertaining for us all. He won't be able to get to this one unless he jumps down on top of it from the balcony. Should he decide to try that, the surface the tree will be perched upon won't leave him much room for a landing - something he'll be able to spot. So this *should* work. And as for presents? Behind glass, baby, behind glass. Oh, yeah.

I'll show it all off tomorrow.

I thought I would have time...

I thought I would have time to sit down and actually write a nice post today. Came home from Hawaii Sunday, bounced up Monday morning and caught up on errands. One of those errands included procuring a beautiful white Christmas tree:

This was yesterday, when I had *just* finished putting it all together. Decorated entirely in bagged, old-school bows and leftover gift ribbon, I thought I had a reasonably kitten-proof tree. I even knocked it over before I decorated it to determine its capabilities to bounce back, and was very, very impressed.

This morning, however, I was not impressed. I was effing livid. So livid I did not take a picture, in fact. I moved the remains of the tree into the bedroom, where it now sits awaiting repairs and redecoration. The bottom branches were bent down all the way around. There was a hole from near the top all the way down to the bottom. Bows? Everywhere. Lights? Sagging in the same pattern as the hole. Jupiter? Running around meowing as if something was wrong.

All evidence points to something he almost tried last night. He stood on the back of a chair and *acted like* he might jump into the tree, and was chased away. Repeatedly. We think he pulled the long-awaited stunt as soon as Didgeridoo Boy and I retired. It was clearly evident he plummeted all the way down through the branches to the bottom of the tree.

And that's all I have to say about the matter. Off to work on Tree 2.0.

Ants in the sink...

Didgeridoo Boy is in charge of the house, Totsi the Dog is trying to take charge of his futon, and Jupiter Jones is peeing. There were ants in the sink. Jupiter Jones got in the sink and began eating said ants. When Didge chased him out of the sink, young master Jupiter trotted straight to Totsi's bed and peed upon it. I had to instruct Didge as to the finer points of laundering the smell of kitty widdle out of whatever it has landed upon.

But it's cool, all good, and everything in between.

I'm finally back in Hawaii.