Hiding under the tree, determined to shake the baubles free. Trying to use the plastic wrapped metal trunk as a scratching post.
Every so often she sneaks underneath, now the presents have gone, then stands up on her back legs – her front paws in the air, battling a glinting decoration, rattling the tinsel. A couple of times the tree has rocked and shaken like a fir in a tornado, almost, but not quite, uprooted from its three pronged stand.
Then out she shoots, scampers after a toy, a feather, a ball. The tree is forgotten till next time – then used as a hiding place, scratching post, and climbing frame in turn when she feels like it.
Twelth night will see the tree demolished and returned to its cardboard box home. What will cat do then?