O' Xmas Tree, O'Xmas Tree - NOT

I’ve been very humbuggy, or scroogette-y as I have been called. Too bad.
But, after the accusations, I decided to accept a Christmas tree. I broke down and was ready to welcome the holiday spirit with open arms. My soon to be ex-spouse picked out the tree for me, brought it back to our house and set it up.
This was done without the usual fanfare that has always accompanied the arrival of the yearly tree. The cat (the one in my arms) didn’t go running for cover and cower on the spare bedroom bed in the mounds of clothes that I need to put away, only to pee out of fear causing the necessity of rewashing all of the clothes. It was nice not to worry about that.
Instead, Huey catted-up this year. He boldly walked to the lush, green tree, standing tall and proud on its tree stand in the middle of the room. This tree was going to get the royal treatment as far as display was concerned. I was unaware of Huey’s newfound bravado, but soon to be was enjoying it.
Then came a girlish shriek from the living room.
“Get in here, quick,” was the following call. I dropped the dishes in the sink with a splash and rushed to the tree – but alas – not fast enough.
Huey had mounted a side attack and had blindsided the courageous tree. He was standing on the tree stand (a tv stand) and had two branches in his mouth. With a vicious headshake, Huey had the tree on the floor, with green paper mache pine needles strewn everywhere. And as fast as I could move to make a lunging grab at him, he was down the hall with the tree, dragging it into the darkest, scariest recesses of the house. I wasn’t going to follow.
Instead, I got the shopvac and cleaned up the leftover remnants of the $1 Dollar Store 12-inch tall fake tree.
That’ll teach me to go back on my word. Next time I say I’m boycotting something, I’m sticking with it. I guess I’ll find the tree when I move.