Celebration is important and unique to the individual, even when collectively celebrating.
This is why I'm all-encompassing at our home when it comes to celebration.
As a child when I had goldfish, I colored, cut, and taped paper decorations near the fish tank and added a pinch more food on Christmas.
When I had my first dog at age forty-ish, he always received a package of Buddig lunch meat for Christmas and Easter and inside his St. Nicholas stocking.
Scooter loved Buddig lunch meat and only received it these three times a year. No one could miss the rapture in his eyes.
Of course, he didn't have the same soul-depth appreciation for, say, the birth of a Savior. But we did, which allowed us to invite him to share the joy.
So obviously when cats became part of our lives and home, they also each received a St. Nicholas stocking (complete with their names in glitter, which is wearing off) empty on the Eve and filled with a tiny tin of cat food in gravy.
The same was repeated for Christmas, Easter etc.
Now after each holiday, all stockings were packed away to await the next feast day. But, somehow, Faith would find them, and randomly leave them all over the house. Coincidence? A hint?
But it happened. We'd walk in the door at six o'clock in the morning in early July after a night of delivering newspapers, and a tiny plush stocking would be laying in the middle of the mudroom floor.
Faith is no longer a kitten. I would call her geriatric exactly, but kittenhood is definitely in her paat.
So imagine my surprise when, on the morning of St. Nicholas Day, I awakened to this on my bedroom floor.
This meant Faith had to drag this stocking, with its weighted tin of food, away from the Christmas tree, across the living room floor to the staircase, trudge up the steep stairs to the landing, turn, climb another flight of stairs, turn again, and then drag this into the middle of my bedroom floor.
Amazing!
But, apparently, totally worth it to her.
The cats are, from left, Frances, Faith, and Midnight.
This is why I'm all-encompassing at our home when it comes to celebration.
As a child when I had goldfish, I colored, cut, and taped paper decorations near the fish tank and added a pinch more food on Christmas.
When I had my first dog at age forty-ish, he always received a package of Buddig lunch meat for Christmas and Easter and inside his St. Nicholas stocking.
Scooter loved Buddig lunch meat and only received it these three times a year. No one could miss the rapture in his eyes.
Of course, he didn't have the same soul-depth appreciation for, say, the birth of a Savior. But we did, which allowed us to invite him to share the joy.
So obviously when cats became part of our lives and home, they also each received a St. Nicholas stocking (complete with their names in glitter, which is wearing off) empty on the Eve and filled with a tiny tin of cat food in gravy.
The same was repeated for Christmas, Easter etc.
Now after each holiday, all stockings were packed away to await the next feast day. But, somehow, Faith would find them, and randomly leave them all over the house. Coincidence? A hint?
But it happened. We'd walk in the door at six o'clock in the morning in early July after a night of delivering newspapers, and a tiny plush stocking would be laying in the middle of the mudroom floor.
Faith is no longer a kitten. I would call her geriatric exactly, but kittenhood is definitely in her paat.
So imagine my surprise when, on the morning of St. Nicholas Day, I awakened to this on my bedroom floor.
This meant Faith had to drag this stocking, with its weighted tin of food, away from the Christmas tree, across the living room floor to the staircase, trudge up the steep stairs to the landing, turn, climb another flight of stairs, turn again, and then drag this into the middle of my bedroom floor.
Amazing!
But, apparently, totally worth it to her.
The cats are, from left, Frances, Faith, and Midnight.
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