A Pet’s Christmas

For those who know me well, especially my friends who share their homes with dogs, cats, birds, or something exotic enough to require a manual, this post may come as a surprise my wife and I don’t currently have a pet. So, why would I write about pets and Xmas. Good question, no real answer except that when I was talking to my daughter she as telling us a story about her cat and the Christmas tree and it reminded me of eaarlier itmes.

The last pet that truly shared our home and our hearts was a cat who lived with us for nearly eighteen years. She left us about fifteen years ago, and while we’ve had opportunities to adopt again, somehow it hasn’t happened. Life shifted. The house quieted. And yet, all these years later, certain memories still arrive at Christmas wrapped in the soft rustle of the past, paws on carpet, ornaments swaying, and the unmistakable sense that pets experience this season in a way all their own.

 We did, however, find ourselves with a dog for a while, eleven pounds of inherited responsibility courtesy of my mother-in-law. Because of her illness, we became the “temporary” caregivers who, as these things go, eventually became the full-time and always-available owners.

 So yes, we had the full experience: a cat who believed she owned us and a dog who was certain we existed solely for his entertainment.

And Christmas? Well, Christmas brought out their best… and their most mischievous.

I can still picture our cat as a kitten the first year we brought out the holiday decorations. The moment the box opened, she was inside it, head first, tail sticking straight up like an exclamation mark. Every ornament became a toy. Every piece of tinsel became a challenge. And the tree, oh, that poor innocent tree, became less a symbol of peace and more a climbing gym designed exclusively for her personal development.

There is nothing quite like sipping a cup of holiday tea in the evening, listening to carols, admiring the warm glow of the tree… and then hearing the faint jing-jing-jing of an ornament being batted around by a creature who has decided that nighttime is the perfect moment for athletic pursuits.

We learned to space ornaments strategically:

Unbreakables at the bottom.

Sentimental treasures higher up.

Anything fragile? Well, we learned to love it from a distance.

The dog, on the other hand, approached Christmas with the enthusiasm of a toddler and the coordination of a tiny moose. His first holiday with us involved a full-speed slide across the hardwood floor that ended with him nose-first in a pile of garland. He wasn’t hurt, quite the opposite. He emerged proudly, garland wrapped around him like he was auditioning for a festive parade.

I remember walking into the living room once and seeing him sitting beside the tree, looking unbelievably pleased with himself, while a single ornament lay at his feet, a casualty of enthusiasm rather than malice. His expression seemed to say, “You’re welcome. I have improved the décor.”

Pets, even when they don’t fully understand the holidays, somehow feel them. They sense the warmth, the changes in routine, the visitors, the rustle of wrapping paper, and the smells, oh, the smells. A roasting turkey can draw a dog from three rooms away and cause a cat to sit in the kitchen doorway with the regal patience of British royalty awaiting a state dinner.

And pet owners? We’re no better. In fact, I’d argue we’re worse.

We decorate.

We wrap.

We shop.

We fret.

It may be easier to get your spouse the perfect Christmas gift than to choose something for the pet, because every pet has preferences. Some adore a plush toy; others prefer the indestructible variety (or think they’re indestructible). Cats may sniff a new bed with suspicion only to sleep in the box it came in. Dogs may love the gourmet treats you bought… or reject them in favour of the same plain biscuit they’ve had daily for years.

But we keep trying because we love the joy that pets bring to the holidays.

Even if you don’t currently have a pet, you can’t help but smile at the stories from others. The Labradoodle who steals the stockings. The cat who naps in the Nativity scene as if she were the twelfth apostle. The senior dog who waits patiently for his annual Christmas photo, wearing a festive hat with the dignity of a seasoned model.

Pets remind us of something essential this time of year:

joy is found in the moment.

delight hides in the small things.

love is often expressed without a single word.

Looking back, our home felt fuller during those years, not just because of the decorations or the number of people coming and going, but because of the extra heartbeat under the roof. Pets bring a unique kind of warmth, a gentle humour, and a dose of unpredictability that blends beautifully with the holiday season. Even now, when I see friends posting photos of their pets in Christmas sweaters or tangled in wrapping paper, I feel that familiar tug of nostalgia.

Maybe one day we’ll open our home to a pet again. Or maybe their Christmas cameos will remain in the warm chapters of memory. Either way, the stories stay with us, the jingling ornaments, the quiet purrs, the wagging tails, the sparkle of mischief in their eyes.

Because pets, in their own way, celebrate Christmas right alongside us.

And perhaps more honestly than anyone else, they remind us that joy isn’t something we create once a year, it’s something we share daily, in small moments, with the beings who make our lives feel full.

The tree’s up, the cat’s in it. Pets make Christmas merrier (and messier).