The bushy balsam looked as if it was bringing itself into the house. Stomping through the dining room and into the living room, the tree boughs bounced when it stopped and a voice requested, “Help me with the tree stand.” As the tree turned to settle onto the floor in the corner of the room, I finally saw Arnie, my husband. Pulling the tree away from the wall a little, he pointed out, “I think the best side of the tree is facing the room. All I need, is for you to hold the tree steady while I tighten the screws.”

Fresh balsam scent and the aura of cold clinging to the tree’s gray branches and trunk began to mingle with the warmth of the living room. Racing downstairs and into the living room, my nine-year-old daughter Tammie exclaimed, “I could smell the tree from upstairs!” Her thirteen-year-old sister Niki entered the living room a little slower, but with a happy smile.

Flicker, our tuxedo tom cat crept slowly around the outer perimeter of the living room. His black nose twitched; the smell of outdoors to now suddenly be indoors seemed to make him nervous.

By the time our Christmas tree was fully decorated later that afternoon, Flicker came to accept the new feature to our living room. As evening advanced, he seemed enamored with the tree, making a spot under one of the lowest boughs his favorite place to nap. It wasn’t until bedtime that I could see we had a problem. As Tammie walked past the tree, Flicker reached out with his long kitty arms and snagged her ankle with a claw. She let out a yelp.

I scolded, “Naughty kitty! Niki, you’d better put him out in the entryway for the night.”

Niki reached under the tree and scooped up the cat. Petting and cuddling him, she commented, “Look at Flicker! His eyes are crazy looking.”

The cat loved the attention he was getting from his favorite girl, Niki, but I could see how nerved-up he was. His eyes were wide and alert, like a jungle cat on the hunt. I gave him a scritch behind and ear and diagnosed, “Too much excitement for him today. It isn’t every day that we haul a tree into the house and decorate it! Maybe tomorrow he won’t be a yuletide beast.”

The next day and the day after that, we had to be careful when we walked past our Christmas tree. Flicker’s furry little arms would flick out in claw-filled ambush. I once watched him from where I was sitting on the couch when Tammie approached the tree. A focused look entered Flicker’s crazy eyes. Hunching forward like wild beast, he looked under, over and around branches as he prepared his attack.

By Christmas Day, Flicker seemed to calm down, and we let down our defenses. His favorite place to nap and watch what was happening in the room continued to be his special spot under the tree

One afternoon after Christmas, I was sitting on the floor next to the tree with Niki and Tammie. We were looking at our gifts and munching on cookies. Suddenly, Flicker attacked the Barbie doll that had been given to Tammie. Niki yelled, “No! Stop it, Flicker!” Just as suddenly as the attack started, it ended. Niki handed me the doll and said, “Look!”

The doll’s left hand had several deep tooth marks. I handed the doll to Tammie and said, “It’s a good thing Niki stopped Flicker from doing more damage!”

Grabbing the Barbie and jumping to her feet, Tammie stamped her foot and tearfully shouted, “Stupid Flicker! You ruined my doll!” and then ran to her bedroom.

Although Flicker had been acting like a fearful wild yule beast, perhaps his domesticated life helped him realize that he had done something wrong. After that day his attacks ended, and he didn’t chew up any more toys. It had taken a while longer than it should have, but I think the cat finally became used to the novelty of having an outdoor tree in the living room.