Christmas eve Archives - Baddest Mother Ever

This darling photo reminded me of a sweet but bygone Christmas tradition in my dad’s house–the Christmas kitty.

For a few years running, back before the grandchildren came along, Daddy used to bring home a little kitten on Christmas Eve. Whichever one had been left at the kennel after the cutest ones had been adopted. So what I’m trying to say–gently–is that these weren’t your most attractive kittens. They were the kinda wonky ones, that still deserved love.

Well, one year, we got the wonkiest of them all. His name was Little Red.

It was a few hours until Christmas Eve dinner and we kids were all hanging around in the kitchen watching Daddy and Gay cook. You know, like you do in big families with small kitchens. That’s when Daddy looked over his shoulder from the stove and said, “Oh, I almost forgot! I got us a Christmas kitten–Brett, run down to the clinic and get that little orange kitten and bring him home.” Brett DISSOLVED into laughter so we knew something had to be up.

Thirty minutes later, here comes Brett with a cardboard cat carrier that’s making little mewling noises. She sets the carrier down in the center of the library rug but won’t open it up until she has everyone’s attention. “Y’all just aren’t going to believe how beautiful this kitten is! Close your eyes!” So we do and she starts giggling again and there’s some rustling and mewling and…

…I wish I had a picture.

There in the middle of the rug stood a bright orange kitten, about the size of a coffee cup. He looked like he had been hit by a truck because, well he had been hit by a truck. This tiny fluff ball had his right front leg in a cast wrapped in red bandages. His left back leg was popped out of joint and still sitting crooked. His nose had been sewn back on with some stitches poking out. He looked like he had sideburns because of the dark greasy streaks from some earmite medicine. His whole backside had been shaved so Daddy could sew up a long laceration right by his hooty-hole. Which was all dabbed in some fluorescent chartreuse antibiotic cream.

“ISN’T HE ADORABLE???” Brett squealed. We were speechless. The kitten looked around at all of us staring at him–on top of his otherwise shitty couple of days–and said, “Mew?” Then he stalked around the room, inspecting his new kingdom. The cast made him swing his leg out in a big circle like a peg-legged pirate. With each step, it made a “bonk” sound on the hardwood floor.

Daddy said, “A lady from the Humane Society found him lying in the middle of the road and when she saw he was still alive, she brought him in for me to put him to sleep. I told her I would, but after she left I reached down to pat him and he started purring.” That was all the explanation we needed as to why Daddy had spent Christmas Eve gluing this orange kitten back together. Because my Daddy has a special place in his heart for “yella cats.”

Did you ever get a kitten for Christmas? A peg-legged, shaved-ass, pirate kitten with sideburns?

The writing prompt this week is “The Best Gift You Could Give Me This Christmas,” courtesy of Deanna Dennis at A Long Run. This one is easy peasy! I don’t really have a list of presents that I am hoping for this year–I just want a Big Gay Christmas.

Big Gay is my stepmother. My fairy stepmother, because she has a gift for spreading magic all around her and making it look easy. Christmas Eve at their house is my favorite family event of the year. We call her “Big Gay” because we have more than one Gay in the family–my sister is named Gay and our stepmother is, too. And we grew up in Gay, Georgia for that matter. So when Daddy married Gay, we had to distinguish–thus Big Gay and Little Gay.

Here are a few things that make a Big Gay Christmas the best day in my year:

1. Big Gay puts great thought and effort into decorating. It makes me feel special to be surrounded by that much beauty. Even during the years when she worked retail and didn’t get home until 8pm on Christmas Eve, we still had a glowing tree, fresh garlands and coconut cakes. She once told me, “There’s so much in life that you can’t control, it just makes sense to me to make things as lovely as possible when you can.”

The dining room tree, reflected in a silver bowl.

Nana’s tree is silver and gold.

2. Big Gay gives gifts that are carefully chosen for each person. And every gift is wrapped in gorgeous paper and ribbon with a handwritten and tied gift tag. One year, she gave me a white terry bath robe “because writers need a good robe.” There were plenty of years when our gifts came from the pawn shop, but they were just what we had asked for. One year when the grandchildren were small and LOVED opening presents, Big Gay went to the dollar store and bought all five of them 20 presents each. Every plastic soldier or bottle of bubbles was lovingly wrapped and ribboned, then piled up in the middle of the floor so the kids could sort through 100 presents!

I wrapped these, but I stole all the ribbons from Big Gay.

3. Everyone gets a place at the table. This might require extra tables in the kitchen and out on the porch, but each guest will have a seat and a lovely plate full of good food. Big Gay makes sure the kids have tiny forks that fit their hands and cups that they can hold. Papa asks the blessing and cries.

The slowest eater in the family, still working on her biscuit.

4. Even though Big Gay’s house looks like a spread in House Beautiful, it’s home. It’s comfortable. You can take your shoes off and unbutton your pants after dinner.

Barefoot with my baybuh.

This was the year I bought Vivi’s tights at the consignment sale and the elastic died!

5. At Nana and Papa’s house, the kids can be kids. This is the best part of Big Gay Christmas to me–there is magic tucked in every corner. Frosty leaves his hat lying around. Jumping on the furniture is tolerated and soccer in the library is perfectly fine. Santa calls to tell everyone it’s time for bed. Elmo chills out with a smoke. We laugh and we laugh and we laugh.