Smudge’s Diaries: December 2025

The Tree Situation

The tree arrived shortly after.

I loved it.

Tasteful. Silver and white. Calm. Well placed. Like a North Pole forest. I watched it go up, as I do every year. It sparkled politely and stayed exactly where it was put. I did not climb it. I wanted that noted.

The Smoky One did not approve.

She stood back, arms folded, and complained there was “no colour”. Too modern. Too cold. Too boring. She suggested chunky tinsel, multi coloured lanterns. Possibly lametta. Maybe ribbons.

I ignored her.

Sorry Granny, but we do not agree on this.

This was all new to The Golden Menace. He stared at the tree for days.

He circled it slowly, suspiciously. He sniffed the base. He flinched at his reflection in the baubles. At night, when the lights came on, he refused to walk past it at all. The pointy star at the top was particularly frightening to him.

One evening, several baubles fell off at once.

The Golden Menace jumped sideways and barked at the tree.

More baubles fell. He spun around in confusion and barked again.

More fell.

At this point, he became convinced the tree was attacking him.

He leapt away, knocking even more decorations off in the process. Each fall confirmed his theory. He jumped. The tree responded. He barked. The tree retaliated. This went on for some time.

By the end of the evening, the bottom half of the tree was bare. He sat shaking a safe distance away, staring at it, absolutely certain it was loading another attack.

I sat smugly on the sofa and said nothing.

It was his bushy tail.

Every time.

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Naughty or Nice

Throughout December, the postman came daily.

Boxes arrived constantly.

This pleased me.

I jumped into every single one right away. Without hesitation. Pure instinct. Blondie said she was “keeping them for Smudgey”, which I appreciated, until she started putting them out for recycling while I was still emotionally invested.

I sat inside one box while she tried to take it away. She lifted me out “just for a second”. I returned to it instantly.

Why remove joy before it’s finished? It makes no sense.

Wrapped presents also began appearing under the tree.

I knew what was inside long before Christmas.

This is not my first year.

I have been subtly scratching at wrapping paper since I was a kitten. Gently. Methodically. Just enough to know. Santa has never noticed. He believes I am simply very good.

I am.

That is why I am clever.

I was, of course, on the nice list.

I knew I was getting a feather teaser. A stocking full of Dreamies, courtesy of The Smoky One. A flippity fish, which I had thoroughly worn out the earlier version of. And a device that launches pom pom balls across the room.

An interesting choice.

I do not chase pom poms like a common cat. I deploy them. From the bedroom window, I briefly planned my targets. Pickle, perhaps. Or The Robe Ranger’s ginger cats. Everyone knows they could use humbling.

What I did know was that I could not target The Golden Menace. He would assume I was playing with him and eat the pom poms. Neither outcome appealed to me.

The Golden Menace received gifts too. I am not sure how. He is definitely not on the nice list. He destroys his toys the moment he receives them. We have discussed this. He is Sid from Toy Story in puppy form. There must have been a mistake on the labels.

The Curly Intruder does not even live here and I still saw presents with his name on. I drew my own conclusions about the naughty list.

Christmas Food and the Tempura Prawn

The house smelled incredible all month.

Roasting things. Pastry. Cheese boards. Plates left unattended “just for a moment”. The kind of moment that assumes no one is watching.

There was also a glittery table runner, which I found extremely useful.

My white and ginger paw blended perfectly as I crept forward, slow and deliberate. I timed it carefully. A reach. A pause. A lift.

I stole food.

The Golden Menace was blamed.

I repositioned myself beneath the coffee table, perfectly hidden by the sparkle of the runner and the general distraction of Christmas chatter.

A second attempt followed.

I stole food again.

The Golden Menace was blamed again.

At this point, I was cracking up internally. This required discipline. Any movement would give me away. Any sound would ruin everything. I remained still, listening to him be scolded for crimes he did not commit.

On my third attempt, my paw was caught mid action.

There was no hesitation.

I ran upstairs at full speed with a tempura prawn in my mouth. I have not moved like that since 2019.

Behind me, The Golden Menace barked in confusion. The Blonde One shouted. The Tall One stared at the ceiling and muttered something about hoping he didn’t find that hidden under his pillow later.

Worth it.

I would be back down shortly.

What was for dessert? As long as it wasn’t minty, I was interested.

Matching Christmas Pyjamas

The matching pyjama incident happened later in the month.

It began, as these things always do, with optimism.

Humans in red satin pyjamas. Shiny. Slippery. Coordinated. Smiling far too early. Someone said the words “let’s get a nice family photo” without checking who else was in the room.

I was presented with a bow.

I do not know where it came from. I do not know who thought this was appropriate. It was placed on me carefully, as if I might agree to it if it was done gently.

I did not.

The bow was removed almost instantly. I believe it landed somewhere behind the sofa.

There was a brief discussion. A compromise was proposed.

The Santa hat.

Every year. Every damn year.

The hat was placed on my head.

I removed it with dignity.

They put it back on.

I removed it again.

This continued for some time.

They adjusted the angle. They tried holding it in place “just for the photo”. I stared directly into the middle distance and let it slide off my head on purpose. The hat fell. Someone sighed.

At this point, cameras were involved.

Tripods were set up. Timers were activated. Phones were balanced. People shuffled. The Golden Menace was instructed to sit. He did not sit. He lay down. Then stood up again. Then tried to lick the camera.

The Smoky One was asked to join.

She complained the floor was too hard. She was handed a cushion. She complained about her knees. She sat down anyway. Then announced she could not get back up without help.

The Curly Intruder wandered in and immediately lay in the wrong place.

Another attempt was made.

The Santa hat reappeared.

I left the room entirely.

The photos that exist tell their own story.

There is one of The Tall One and The Blonde One together.
One of The Tall One and The Blonde One with The Golden Menace.
One of Granny with The Curly Intruder.
And one of Blondie and me.

There is not, and never was, a photo of all of us together.

Eventually, The Tall One announced he was done. Granny said she’d had enough. Someone muttered “we’ll try again next year” while packing the tripod away.

New pyjamas were mentioned.

The Santa hat was placed back in a box.

If I find it again, I will shred it.

Just like I did to The Bag Lady’s handbag that one time. Some things are not forgiven.

What Happens When I’m Supervising (and When I’m Not)

The Smoky One looked after us one afternoon while The Blonde One and The Tall One went out.

Everything was calmer immediately.

The Smoky One understands how houses should sound. Voices were lower. Movements were slower. Snacks appeared on time and in appropriate quantities. She settled into the sofa with a turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sandwich balanced carefully on a plate beside her.

She was wearing a Christmas jumper that required explanation. Something knitted. Something festive. Something with a snowman that looked mildly judgmental.

The Smoky One dozed off, one hand resting near the plate, the sandwich remained unfinished but guarded by proximity alone. The room was warm. The lights from the tree reflected softly off the walls. For a brief moment, everything felt under control.

Which is when I entertained myself.

Granny had brought a teddy with her.

This teddy was a problem.

It looked exactly like The Curly Intruder. Same size. Same colour. Same confused expression. Even the way it sat felt like copy and paste.

I moved the teddy.

Then I moved the real Curly Intruder.

He cooperated. Because he knows.

Then I waited.

The Golden Menace entered the room and stopped dead in his tracks.

He barked at one Ben. It did not respond.

He sniffed the other Ben.

It moved.

The Golden Menace sat down heavily, deeply unsettled. He stared at them both, his ears slowly folding sideways as his brain attempted to process the situation. Two identical Ben’s. Neither behaving correctly.

I sat nearby, perfectly still, and watched.

Then the front door unlocked.

This felt like my opportunity.

I removed the turkey.

Carefully. Cleanly. No bread. No stuffing. No cranberry. I am not greedy. I am selective.

The Smoky One woke abruptly. The sandwich plate was noticed. The turkey was not where it should have been. The Curly Intruder and The Golden Menace exploded into motion, running in frantic circles of anticipation.

Voices returned. Bags dropped. Shoes kicked off. I could smell laughter and stress.

Nobody looked at the stairs.

I continued eating. And listening.

I learned they had gone to Winter Wonderland.

Without me.

I could have told them this was a mistake.

The Tall One attempted ice skating and immediately resembled Bambi. No balance. Legs everywhere. And he has very long legs, which made it worse. He fell more than once and they laughed as if that made it acceptable.

Hot chocolate was spilt. Not sipped. Spilt. Onto gloves. Possibly onto a stranger. It was unclear.

They went on the big wheel. At the very top, another glove incident occurred. It was dropped and they watched it float all the way to the ground while trapped inside the capsule for half an hour.

They missed the train home.

Chaos.

They told the story all the while through laughter.

By the end of it, I had finished the turkey and was sitting innocently by the stair gate, listening.

My advice was simple.

Next time, they should take me.

None of this would have happened.

Conclusion

December reminded me of my strengths.

That I look good in hats, whether I agree to them or not.
That I am cleverer than Santa.
That food must be stolen when the opportunity arises.
And that chaos increases significantly when I am not there to supervise.

The house will be louder.
The food less protected
The mistakes predictable.

I was never on the wrong list.