Okay, this is weird. My parents have gone out and brought a tree into the house. I understood completely why they brought a cat into the house. The point of the cat was to introduce a sense of wildness and nature into our highly domesticated and orderly environment, and also to have something fuzzy and scratchy and affectionate to clean up after, aside from me.
But a tree – that just crosses the line. Trees belong outside. Period.
Look, I know it’s Christmas and everything (and thank you everybody for all the trucks because I can never have enough toy trucks, and for the puzzles, because those pieces look really good under the couch right now). I know enough about the history of this holiday to know that it originated in the desert, and pine trees and snow have nothing to do with the desert. But I also know enough not to get into philosophical discussions with people at this time of year, because they are drinking too much egg nog, or else they are cloudy of mind, flashing back to their own childhood holiday experiences, the bounty or lack of emotion thereof, and it’s really just a mess. On a human, emotional level, I mean. So let it go, I say. Let it go.
But I can’t.
They put lights and other stuff on the tree, lavishing a lot of attention on it, and then things only got stranger. They took me to this place that had snow.
As you probably know, because you are an adult who can read, snow comes from a machine and is made solely for the amusement of children.
It is dangerous stuff because they rope it off and make a boundary of hay bales around it even as they permit children to frolic in it. Note in the photograph how carefully I am treading on it. You never know what can happen with snow! I’ve only seen snow once in the wild, although some people tell me that it falls from the sky, which is obviously nonsense. (I have a memory of this, snow falling from the sky, but I think it only was a dream.) I have to believe my own eyes on this one. Snow comes from a machine and that’s that.
The other thing I’ve done over this holiday is take some laps to prepare to enter the Indy 500. You can see me here in the time trials, roaring down the final lap and spewing a little oil out my rear. I have to do this on a tricycle, because I can’t drive.
If you’d like a tip, the best way to ride a trike is backwards. It’s much more natural to push your feet forward so that the trike goes that way. Kierkegaard wrote that life must be lived forward but can only be understood backward, so I am getting a head start on understanding life. Try it sometime. You will achieve a deeper understanding of everything, even as you prepare backwards for the Indy 500, and you also bump into a lot of other people because you can’t see them.
Another strange thing my parents have been doing is preparing for something called the ‘new year.’
The only new year that matters to me is my birthday, which was back in the summer, so this New Year they’re getting all excited about makes little sense to me. Apparently it involves wearing funny hats and staying in with me. That works for me, anyway, but I don’t understand why they bought me a noisemaker to play with. I like it and everything, but I make enough noise already without it.
Well, I have to get back to my toy trucks now. See you in 2014. If you hear a lot of noise around midnight, that will be me.