The alternative title of this entry is “Four Kittens, Gluehwein, and the Espresso of Doom (with a Royal Observer)“…
Aaaahhh, Christmas – the time of year when we gather ’round the tree, enjoy festive treats, and try to keep it all together despite the best efforts of life (and animals) to make it a little more chaotic. This year, however, the universe seemed to decide I hadn’t undergone enough challenges. Enter four kittens, the espresso of doom, and the watchful gaze of His Lordship, Duke Reddington, the royal and loyal grey cat who observed it all from a perch of lofty disdain.
Let’s begin with His Lordship. Duke Reddington, a cat of noble lineage (at least, in his own mind), was not here for the chaos. No, he wasn’t interested in the ruckus of four kittens tumbling over each other like tiny furry wrecking balls. His attention was firmly fixed on two things: fallen baubles and the tantalizing scent of sardines and chopped potatoes, which were just a little too far out of reach to be ignored.
As the kittens made a mess of my kitchen, knocking over wine bottles and causing a true disaster with my Christmas Glühwein (yes, that happened), Duke Reddington sat high on his throne – aka the top of the bookshelf – and watched it all unfold with the kind of disdain usually reserved for lesser beings. “I’m above this,” his eyes seemed to say as he slowly blinked at the kittens. “You fools are beneath me.”
Meanwhile, the kittens—bless their chaotic hearts—were doing what kittens do best: running around like they were starring in their own action movie. One kitten launched itself across the kitchen counter, sending my simmering Glühweinpot flying. The second knocked over the cinnamon sticks and the orange peel. The third decided it was time to launchthemselves straight into the wine bottle, which now rolled under the table like an uninvited guest at a holiday party.
The fourth kitten? Oh, it was under the table, plotting its own ascent to kitchen dominance, probably preparing to scale the legs of the table and knock my decorative napkins onto the floor.
But Duke Reddington? He watched, unbothered. “Mere kittens,” he seemed to mutter in that regal, silent way only cats can. “Pathetic.”
And yet, despite the complete destruction happening around me, I still believed that the season’s joy could be salvaged with one thing: coffee. A nice, simple cup of espresso to get me through the insanity. I mean, it’s Christmas morning. What could go wrong?
Well, let me tell you: everything.
In the haze of post-kitten chaos, I miscalculated my coffee proportions. What began as an innocent attempt at a perfectly strong espresso turned into something closer to liquid jet fuel. It was so thick, so intense, I’m pretty sure it could have been used to fuel a spacecraft. One sip and I felt the instant sensation of having my entire being turned into a vibrating, hyperactive espresso bean.
By my third cup (yes, third—because why not?), I was wide awake. I swear, I could hear the ticking of the wall clock in slow motion. My hands were shaking, not from the cold, but from the sheer amount of caffeine coursing through my veins. And of course, Duke Reddington was still sitting there on his perch, blissfully ignoring my growing madness. The baubles from the tree were his primary concern. It was clear he thought the kittens were beneath him and didn’t deserve to play with the decorations.
The kittens, however, had no such hierarchy. In fact, they were now playing a very vigorous game of “knock everything off the shelves and see what happens.” The loud thunk of the wine bottle hitting the floor was just the opening act. The real chaos started when one kitten managed to scale the Christmas tree itself. “Just let me enjoy the baubles,” Duke Reddington seemed to mutter as he turned his gaze toward the heavens, clearly wishing for some peace.
I, on the other hand, was feeling the effects of the espresso so profoundly that I was convinced the kittens were speaking in a language I could almost understand. (They weren’t, but the idea of communicating with them sounded much more plausible at that moment.)
And then there was the cold. Oh, the cold. This ancient house, with walls so thick they could keep out the concept of summer, did not offer much in the way of comfort. I was freezing, but I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not with four kittens wreaking havoc, a royal grey cat judging my every move, and coffee strong enough to power a rocket. I needed to finish what I started – even if that meant sacrificing the last shreds of my sanity.
And somewhere in the midst of it all, Duke Reddington decided to grace me with his presence. Not for the kittens, oh no, not for them. He came into the office, where I had escaped to work amidst the madness, and sat on the desk like a king awaiting his tribute. This month he couldn’t be bothered to write his journal entry, and said he would resume in the new year instead, summarily proceeding to ignore the ruckus behind the door — his dignity far above the turmoil of those noisy, insignificant creatures. He simply wanted company, preferably human company who would understand that sardines and chopped potatoes were not just for Christmas dinner, but for any meal where a royal feline feels the need for extra sustenance. He eventually settled on his sofa and shut the world out.
Meanwhile, the kittens were still tearing through the house like tiny furry hurricanes, knocking over more decorations and, I’m fairly sure, setting a few new records in the “Most Destruction Caused in One Hour.” And I? Well, I was staring down the abyss that was my espresso-induced energy, unable to move forward or backward.
But Duke Reddington? He was above it all, resting peacefully in the office, giving me the side-eye when I dared to acknowledge his existence. And I realized, in that moment, that he had it all figured out. The kittens may have had their fun, but Duke Reddington knew the truth: the key to Christmas peace is finding your spot, ignoring the chaos, and waiting for the sardines.
Merry Christmas to me, and to all of you who may be blessed with kittens, caffeine, and the noble wisdom of a grey cat who just wants to be left alone in peace. May your walls be warmer, your coffee be measured, and your royal cats have the grace to avoid the kittens’ mess.
FrogDiva Thoughts 