The other day I was awakened by a panicked Jono telling me a kitten was stuck in the Christmas tree. I ran into the living room to find one of the kittens near the top of the tree, screaming. Her foot had become tangled in the wire for the lights and she was stuck, terrified, and apparently in some pain.
I tried to pull her out, but the leg was held fast by the twisted strand like a bear trap with twinkle lights. She began swatting and biting my hand. Then, in defiance of the law of gravity, Gracie the mama cat ran up the side of the Christmas tree and bit my arm. The metallic wire branches sproinging like released springs as she ran, ornaments were catapulting off of the tree. A glass ball shattered. A gingerbread brontosaurus lost his head and tail. Gracie thought I was hurting her baby, apparently. We shooed her away and began trying again. Another kitten joined the riot and bit D's foot. Jono was running around the house in a complete panic, dressed only in his tighty whities, hands over his ears, and screaming "make it stop! make it stop!". Martha and I were yelling instructions to each other over the hysteria.
I was about to get the wire cutters to cut the kitten loose when the second wave hit. I didn't see it coming. A band of Lilliputian archers filled my backside with arrows! No! Worse! It was Gracie leaping upon my back and sinking all four fang-teeth deep into my hip! M told me later that she had flown at me with all claws bared and mouth wide open. I screamed and we chased her into another room and, this time, shut the door. Perhaps I was in shock, but I don't really remember what happened next. Somehow, Martha got the kitten out of the tree and everybody soon stopped screaming. We counted twelve puncture wounds from bites and numerous claw marks as we cleaned up and administered band-aids. Gotta love cats.