Cativity

On Monday last week, we decorated our tree. Midway through the evening, we remembered the little tinsel tree with colored lights that my mom passed on to Ivy.  She took it straight up to her room and got to work, decorating with some leftover ornaments. She then created tickets for us to enter her room and see the spectacle, tearing each one like a professional ticket-taker. When we entered the darkened room, the little tree glowed and we felt reverent. She even asked us to kneel down by the tree, where we had our nightly family prayer. Under the tree, she had arranged the most precious nativity scene, a thrift store find I picked up a few weeks ago, knowing how perfect it would be for my little animal lover--a nativity set made entirely of cats! I thought it was one of the kitsch-iest, cheesiest things I'd ever laid eyes on, resin made in China, but thought that for the $4 price tag, she'd have some fun with it, then I'd re-donate it at the end of the season. She loves it. Little Baby Jesus as a smiling orange kitten, the angel, a gray tabby with a gold halo and wings. Even matronly Mary is infused with a heavenly, though, feline, glow. Perfect. The morning after our decorating party, I found two pillows resting on the floor near her tiny tree--she'd spent the hour before I woke up reading by its magical light--something I would have loved when I was her age.