It's Sunday morning.
I just finished reading the obituaries.
I do that every Sunday.
I can't stop for some reason.
I've a confession.
Yes, there's more. Above my obsession with bacon, and fear of mustard, I have many confessions.
Today's confession - I don't have a Christmas tree this year.
I can hear you gasping.
I kinda feel like Bunbun, half hiding, even telling you this.
I have a small artificial one in the kitchen, filled with cooking, baking and coffee related ornaments.
I have the antique silver one in the bedroom.
I have a wee one in my bathroom.
But I don't have a REAL one.
Every year, we get a real Frasier Fir.
We put the old big Charlie Brown lights on it.
It's full of Shiny Bright antique ornaments.
I string popcorn and cranberries.
We use tinsel.
And you know why I don't have a tree?
It's this minx.
The cat I rescued, that I swore I wasn't keeping.
The cat that wreaks havoc on my Friday stitching group.
The cat that wormed it's way into my heart like no other.
I just didn't trust him this year with my Shiny Brights.
There, now you know.
I feel cleansed.