Nothing got broken. That includes me, cuz Mom was out at the time.
“What happened to the tree?” She spotted it before she took her keys from the door lock.
“What tree?” Dad, home a few minutes before her, hadn’t even noticed.
“What tree-ee.” Mom grabbed her keys from the door and kicked it closed with the back her shoe. “How many trees do we have in the living room?” She plopped two bags on the dining room table, and you can bet she gave Dad that look.
Her question wasn’t really a question. It was one of Mom’s “where’s your brain” comments.
I pretended to be asleep on Dad’s jacket, still warm cuz he’d just taken it off and dumped it in a chair. Its fuzzy insides all nice and crumpled like that kinda make a comfy nest for me.
Dad was tired, and interested in finding a football game with his new remote. When his mind’s on football, Dad act likes he’s not the sharpest claw on a paw. He ignored Mom’s snap-to-attention tone.
In a flat voice Mom said every word real clear and slow. “The tree ... and that would be the Christmas tree ... is leaning into the corner of the living room wall. But for wall holding the Christmas tree, everything on it would be smashed.”
“Oh.” Still holding his remote, Dad went into the living room and stood the tree up. Then, walking toward the TV, and almost talking to the remote, he said “KittyCat probably knocked it over.”
I’m thinking I’m done for, but before I got real terrified, Mom disagreed, and her usual cheerful voice was back.
“No, he showed no interest in it when I decorated it. Besides, he would have knocked ornaments off. Guess when setting it up, I didn’t quite balance it.”
Whew! Every now and then I get a pass.
Curled up real cozy, I fell asleep.