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From my position in the corner of the room I’m watching her erect that artificial tree. The one that’s been gathering dust in the garage. And yes, as expected, she’s putting it in the exact same place as last year, in between the noisy box and the door. She’s so predictable.
What next?
Of course of course, the lights. Those twinkling things that hurt my eyes and disturb my sleep. She leaves them turned on all through the night. Now I don’t know what you think, but I’d say that’s an inexcusable waste of electricky. The foolish woman.
That’s it, wind ’em round all the way to the top.
Now what?
Ah, that sparkly fluffy stuff I believe they call tinsel. It gets up my nose that stuff does. Makes me squeeze. I don’t like it. When I was younger they thought I wanted to play with it. I didn’t really, I was just trying to make them like me so they‘d pamper me.
That’s it that’s it, wrap it around the branches under and over the lights.
What now?
Oh yes. This is the funny bit. This is when she stands on a chair and stretches to fix that silver thing to the top prong of the tree. There it goes. No.. stretching, stretching.. Yes. Just made it without knocking the tree over (unlike last year). But what the hell is that thing? The children seem to love it. When they see it they jump up and down and point saying, “Fairy! Fairy! Fairy!” It’s like an annual tradition or something. I really don’t understand what all the fuss is about.
So is that it then?
She’s shoved the plug in and is standing back admiring her work. It looks okay I suppose, but something’s missing. What is it? What's missing? She’s checking the plastic bag.
“David,” she shouts, “where are the baubles?”
Ha-ha. Not this year, my dear. No no. You’re not going to tie one of those things to my collar this time round! Who do you think I am!
“David, have you seen the baubles?”
No he has not.
Bonfire night refreshed my memory. They scare me half to death with those bombs then a short time later they humiliate me with poncey little decorations. Who do they think I am! Well not this time. I buried the horrible things in the garden, one by one. He’ll probably find them eventually, but by then it’ll be too late. The kids’ll get the blame.
“Come on,” he’ll say to them, all cross like. “Which one of you buried the baubles in the cabbage patch?” The kids’ll shake their little innocent faces. “Well it wasn’t the cat,” he’ll say.
Meow.
What next?
Of course of course, the lights. Those twinkling things that hurt my eyes and disturb my sleep. She leaves them turned on all through the night. Now I don’t know what you think, but I’d say that’s an inexcusable waste of electricky. The foolish woman.
That’s it, wind ’em round all the way to the top.
Now what?
Ah, that sparkly fluffy stuff I believe they call tinsel. It gets up my nose that stuff does. Makes me squeeze. I don’t like it. When I was younger they thought I wanted to play with it. I didn’t really, I was just trying to make them like me so they‘d pamper me.
That’s it that’s it, wrap it around the branches under and over the lights.
What now?
Oh yes. This is the funny bit. This is when she stands on a chair and stretches to fix that silver thing to the top prong of the tree. There it goes. No.. stretching, stretching.. Yes. Just made it without knocking the tree over (unlike last year). But what the hell is that thing? The children seem to love it. When they see it they jump up and down and point saying, “Fairy! Fairy! Fairy!” It’s like an annual tradition or something. I really don’t understand what all the fuss is about.
So is that it then?
She’s shoved the plug in and is standing back admiring her work. It looks okay I suppose, but something’s missing. What is it? What's missing? She’s checking the plastic bag.
“David,” she shouts, “where are the baubles?”
Ha-ha. Not this year, my dear. No no. You’re not going to tie one of those things to my collar this time round! Who do you think I am!
“David, have you seen the baubles?”
No he has not.
Bonfire night refreshed my memory. They scare me half to death with those bombs then a short time later they humiliate me with poncey little decorations. Who do they think I am! Well not this time. I buried the horrible things in the garden, one by one. He’ll probably find them eventually, but by then it’ll be too late. The kids’ll get the blame.
“Come on,” he’ll say to them, all cross like. “Which one of you buried the baubles in the cabbage patch?” The kids’ll shake their little innocent faces. “Well it wasn’t the cat,” he’ll say.
Meow.
:D
A second nice entry from this user. I knew it was an animal before the end of the story but still finished it with a smile on my face.
I hope you are still around to do some more of these stories.
A second nice entry from this user. I knew it was an animal before the end of the story but still finished it with a smile on my face.
I hope you are still around to do some more of these stories.
Hah, nice. Good little seasonal story. Even better than your other one, as well.
I have no idea who's who, where they are or what they're doing.
=)
A very intelligent cat to understand the economics of energy efficiency...
Good fun though.
A very intelligent cat to understand the economics of energy efficiency...
Good fun though.
From my position in the corner of the room I’m watching her erect that artificial tree. The one that’s been gathering dust in the garage. And yes, as expected, she’s putting it in the exact same place as last year, in between the noisy box and the door. She’s so predictable.
What next?
Of course of course, the lights. Those twinkling things that hurt my eyes and disturb my sleep. She leaves them turned on all through the night. Now I don’t know what you think, but I’d say that’s an inexcusable waste of electricky. The foolish woman.
That’s it, wind ’em round all the way to the top.
Now what?
Ah, that sparkly fluffy stuff I believe they call tinsel. It gets up my nose that stuff does. Makes me squeeze. I don’t like it. When I was younger they thought I wanted to play with it. I didn’t really, I was just trying to make them like me so they‘d pamper me.
That’s it that’s it, wrap it around the branches under and over the lights.
What now?
Oh yes. This is the funny bit. This is when she stands on a chair and stretches to fix that silver thing to the top prong of the tree. There it goes. No.. stretching, stretching.. Yes. Just made it without knocking the tree over (unlike last year). But what the hell is that thing? The children seem to love it. When they see it they jump up and down and point saying, “Fairy! Fairy! Fairy!” It’s like an annual tradition or something. I really don’t understand what all the fuss is about.
So is that it then?
She’s shoved the plug in and is standing back admiring her work. It looks okay I suppose, but something’s missing. What is it? What's missing? She’s checking the plastic bag.
“David,” she shouts, “where are the baubles?”
Ha-ha. Not this year, my dear. No no. You’re not going to tie one of those things to my collar this time round! Who do you think I am!
“David, have you seen the baubles?”
No he has not.
Bonfire night refreshed my memory. They scare me half to death with those bombs then a short time later they humiliate me with poncey little decorations. Who do they think I am! Well not this time. I buried the horrible things in the garden, one by one. He’ll probably find them eventually, but by then it’ll be too late. The kids’ll get the blame.
“Come on,” he’ll say to them, all cross like. “Which one of you buried the baubles in the cabbage patch?” The kids’ll shake their little innocent faces. “Well it wasn’t the cat,” he’ll say.
Meow.
What next?
Of course of course, the lights. Those twinkling things that hurt my eyes and disturb my sleep. She leaves them turned on all through the night. Now I don’t know what you think, but I’d say that’s an inexcusable waste of electricky. The foolish woman.
That’s it, wind ’em round all the way to the top.
Now what?
Ah, that sparkly fluffy stuff I believe they call tinsel. It gets up my nose that stuff does. Makes me squeeze. I don’t like it. When I was younger they thought I wanted to play with it. I didn’t really, I was just trying to make them like me so they‘d pamper me.
That’s it that’s it, wrap it around the branches under and over the lights.
What now?
Oh yes. This is the funny bit. This is when she stands on a chair and stretches to fix that silver thing to the top prong of the tree. There it goes. No.. stretching, stretching.. Yes. Just made it without knocking the tree over (unlike last year). But what the hell is that thing? The children seem to love it. When they see it they jump up and down and point saying, “Fairy! Fairy! Fairy!” It’s like an annual tradition or something. I really don’t understand what all the fuss is about.
So is that it then?
She’s shoved the plug in and is standing back admiring her work. It looks okay I suppose, but something’s missing. What is it? What's missing? She’s checking the plastic bag.
“David,” she shouts, “where are the baubles?”
Ha-ha. Not this year, my dear. No no. You’re not going to tie one of those things to my collar this time round! Who do you think I am!
“David, have you seen the baubles?”
No he has not.
Bonfire night refreshed my memory. They scare me half to death with those bombs then a short time later they humiliate me with poncey little decorations. Who do they think I am! Well not this time. I buried the horrible things in the garden, one by one. He’ll probably find them eventually, but by then it’ll be too late. The kids’ll get the blame.
“Come on,” he’ll say to them, all cross like. “Which one of you buried the baubles in the cabbage patch?” The kids’ll shake their little innocent faces. “Well it wasn’t the cat,” he’ll say.
Meow.