By the second year, Conley had become a full-grown cat. His Christmas antics weren’t quite as adorable. He was too big to catapult, though he didn’t think so. We had to move the tree away from the couch to help him forget that that once had been a thing. He then homed in on the needles, seeming to think they were just about the tastiest morsels he’d ever scrounged.
Unfortunately, Conley's digestive system was not a fan. Pine needle sweeping became a multiple-times-a-day activity. It was either that or clean up after his horking. And he wouldn’t necessarily wait for the needles to hit the floor, preferring his newfound delicacy straight from the branch.
I tried all the tricks. I hung orange peels from the bottom branches after reading cats can’t stand the smell. The peels didn’t faze him. He just ate around them. I bought a chew deterrent spray—which supposedly tastes terrible—and coated the branches. He didn’t even seem to notice. I sprayed another layer. Nada.
(And, in case you’re wondering—yes, he is well fed. He is by no means lacking in food security or starving whatsoever.)
I experimented with barricades around the tree—empty boxes, furniture, whatever I could find. Conley would nose around until he found the tiniest opening and push until my structure collapsed, or he made a way up and over. I’d find that little stinker curled up, belly full of needles, asleep on the new tree skirt I'd thought was safe to buy. The pine needles would make a reappearance on said tree skirt before I could get him out of the zone. And of course, the family knew there could be absolutely no ornaments on the bottom third of the tree or those things would get wacked, smacked, and pummeled until airborne.
Presents also had to be protected. There was no tying on ribbon or bows until Christmas morning. Otherwise, you guessed it, Conley would eat them. Suffice it to say many a Christmas my family suffered through opening bow-less, wrapping paper-only presents.
As the years wore on, I did get fancier with my barricades. I bought black posterboard to put behind our accordion baby gate and added lights to imply holiday décor rather than cat proofing. At first it worked. But every now and then the accordion would fold in a smidge and the whole thing would collapse.
Christmas had turned into a battle of wills.
Just when I would think I'd outsmarted him, Conley would surpass my cleverness. I found myself wanting to put up our tree later and later each year and take it down earlier and earlier.
Two years ago, I stumbled upon a Pinterest idea I thought could really work. I trimmed that year’s Christmas tree to where Conley couldn’t touch a thing. By the time enough bottom branches were cut off to be out of his reach, it had lost most of its volume and was the shape of an arrow. Not many could look at our tree and stifle their snickers and snorts, though some tried. But I have to say, it was one of our most peaceful seasons since there was simply nothing he could do to make the tree look worse.
Last year came along and I really didn’t want a tree again that would make people bite their tongues. After all the effort of hanging the lights and perfectly spacing the mementos, giggles aren't really the desired reaction. I needed a new plan. The family had been wanting to “branch” out and try another tree variety since we’d only ever had white pines, which I love. Knowing it couldn’t be any worse than an arrow tree, I agreed to a Norway Spruce. But the look and feel were so different from a pine that I thought to myself: never again.
But then, something happened to change my mind. We set up the tree while Conley was shut in the basement. We've always done that, hoping that somehow when we let him upstairs he'll be oblivious. That’s never worked, but we'd never given up hope. Anyway, once it was decorated, we opened the door for Conley to join us. At first he didn’t seem to notice the tree. He was toying with us. I was sure of it. Then an hour went by and he still hadn’t noticed. No way. I wasn't convinced. Then it was evening, then the next day, week, weeks. He had no attraction whatsoever to the Norway Spruce.
That Norway Spruce, that beautiful Norway Spruce had managed to change my entire season. The battle of wits had ended. I was free to focus on… Christmas.
Thanks to the Norway Spruce, I can now enjoy my tree and my cat at Christmas. If only I’d known years ago.
So, if any of you out there are struggling to get through Christmas with a cat like Conley, you may want to consider a Norway Spruce.
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Krista Yetzke is a native of Ottawa County. A jeep-driving, guitar-playing wife, mom, and everyday adventurer, Krista was raised on the love of Jesus, the great outdoors, the arts, the value of frugality, and the beauty of food as medicine.
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