Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. And then, all hell broke loose. After an evening of good cheer, a seven-course feast, and a fair amount of wine, Nico and I had walked back to the little stone house, still laughing over the night’s festivities. When we had reached the door, a small, interrogative “Meow” had drawn our attention to the tiger-striped kitten that had followed us on our walk from Nico’s parents’ house. It gazed up at us with its big eyes, such an innocent-looking little creature, and we just couldn’t leave it out in the cold. A few minutes later, the three of us were cozily tucked into bed under the fluffy Christmas duvet that Nico’s mom had just bought for us.
Four hours later, the Christmas spell was broken by a nostril-curling stench that abruptly tore Nico and me from our blissful slumber. As I stumbled to the light switch, Nico threw open the window. Regardless of the freezing cold, we greedily inhaled the fresh air and looked around for the cause of this olfactory offense. The kitten had shat all over the Christmas duvet. It was not solid, and not a little bit. And she wasn’t done. All Christmas goodwill vanished as I grabbed the feline and made for the door at record speed. I returned to the bedroom to find Nico gagging as he attempted to mop up the liquid filth with paper towels. Together, we managed to clean the duvet cover as best as we could and get it off of the duvet, but although the duvet itself was not dirty, it still smelled to high heaven. At four in the morning, we decided to just let the duvet cover soak and left the duvet in the veranda, pleasantly far away from our nostrils. We returned to bed, thoroughly disgruntled and without a duvet. As we huddled together for warmth under a thin sheet, Nico sleepily murmured, “Merry Shitmas,” before drifting back to sleep.
Just a reminder that Christmas Eve memories and laughter sometimes come from disaster!
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