“I just hit a sidewalk crack,” I improvised. “Sorry, buddy,” I told the cat.
As promised, a minute later, we reached a block that held an annual decorating contest. Throngs of people moved along the sidewalk in a slow-motion wave. Every three-story row house on the street was decked out from top to bottom in colored lights, with variations between angel and Nativity motifs and Santa’s workshop and reindeer themes. Lights blinked, inflatables bobbed, and animatronics moved and pivoted and whirred.
“It’s…” Kat shook her head. “I don’t think there’s anything like this in Europe.”
I grinned. “Well, welcome home.”
“The next musical light show starts in two minutes!” a man called from the front stoop of a house to our right.
In the backpack, Mr. Whiskerbottom Fuzzypants shifted his weight from side to side and then growled.
“I think that’s our cue to leave,” I said.
“I agree.”
We backed away from the spectacle and continued our walk.
“Have you been to the old cinema four blocks north of us?” She poured the last chestnut from the bag into her mouth and crunched on it.
I furrowed my brow. “There’s an old cinema four blocks north of us? You mean like an old-fashioned movie theater?”
“Yes. How do you not know about it? Now I’m not sure I’m getting the best neighborhood advice, after all.”
I took her empty paper bag, rolled it up with mine, and sadly threw both into a trash can because they were too soaked in oil to be recycled.
“I wonder if the chestnut man would let us bring our own container next time,” she said, as though we were on the same wavelength.
I wondered if she noticed how casually she said “us.” Then I dropped the thought because people in flings—if that’s what this was leading to—weren’t so much an “us” as an “us for the moment.”
“I like the way you think,” I responded to her. “See, when I make those kinds of suggestions to my friends, they give me serious shit for it.”
We approached the next intersection, and I steered us left. Almost immediately, our vision was flooded with more artificial light, this time from bright white bulbs on dozens of black wires that were strung over a sea of trees. As the lights hit us, so did the crisp, sharp scent of the evergreen forest erected on the normally vacant lot, as well as the tinny strains of Muzak Christmas carols.
“Wow!” Kat looked around, round-eyed. “I didn’t think it would be so big.”
I imagined the jokes Will and Rex would make at my expense if they’d heard that.
“Mrrp,” Mr. Whiskerbottom Fuzzypants contributed, and I remembered that Kat and I weren’t alone. He wasn’t much of a chaperone, but he reminded me that I was here to help his foster mom, not seduce her. At least not tonight.
I turned around so he could see the lights and trees the way we had. He shifted all his weight toward his bubble, and I had to adjust my stance.
Kat smiled. “He’s so excited. I think he wants out to climb in the trees.”
“Let’s hope he doesn’t want to climb yours after you’ve decorated it.”
Her smile froze, then faded. “Wait, do cats do that, climb Christmas trees?”
It was easy to forget how little feline experience she had, seeing how close she already was to the big gray guy. “Well, hashtag not all cats, but sure, some cats will climb a tree that silly humans bring inside the house, the same as they would climb one outside.” We walked onto the lot and stopped by the sign with a list of tree types by aisle. “Do you have any particular kind of tree in mind?”
“No. I think I’ll know it when I see it.”
That seemed like a very disorganized plan that might take a long time, but I didn’t mind. We wandered down the nearest aisle, pivoting our heads back and forth to take in the trees on each side of us.
“So,” she said, “I probably shouldn’t put my glass ornaments on the tree.”
I shook my head. “But maybe you could rig a way to hang them from the ceiling.”
She furrowed her brow, then nodded. “I like the way your mind works, too. But I’ll have to pick up some cat-friendly decorations. Do you think Janie can help me out?”
