Today, I, Gryzka, decided it was time to assist Mom in her strange annual ritual: covering perfectly good boxes in colorful, crinkly paper and ribbons. Why humans insist on wrapping up gifts only to unwrap them again is beyond me, but if there's one thing I've learned, it's that Mom needs all the help she can get. And who better to provide that help than yours truly?
As Mom settled on the floor with her supplies—a mountain of sparkly paper, a suspiciously long roll of sticky tape, and a rainbow of ribbons—I took my position, all four paws primed. I waited for the moment, crouching in stealth mode, hiding behind the roll of paper, eyes locked on Mom’s hands.
She barely unrolled a foot of the paper when—BAM!—I made my move. Paws first, I pounced on the paper, leaving two perfect little paw prints right in the middle of it. Surely, Mom would appreciate this decorative touch; after all, my paws are priceless. But instead of showering me with praise, she just sighed.
“Gryzka,” she said, “could you… maybe not…?”
Not? I thought. Not help? Absurd. I couldn’t imagine wrapping without my personal artistic contributions. As she gently lifted my paws off the paper, I could see she was trying to undo my paw prints. Well, that simply wouldn’t do. With a flick of my tail, I readied for another strike.
No sooner had Mom cut the paper and laid a box on it than I made my next leap, claws extended just a tad for extra grip. This time, I landed smack in the middle of the box. Yes! Success! I batted at a bit of ribbon while sitting right on top of the gift, giving it the ultimate Gryzka “approval stamp.” Mom sighed even louder this time.
“Gryzka! I need to wrap the gifts, not have you sit on them,” she groaned.
“Wrap them? Who’s wrapping anything here?” I meowed in response, batting a particularly shiny piece of tape that dangled deliciously near my face.
Now, tape, that was another marvel of holiday wrapping. Those clear little pieces clung to my paws in the most delightfully annoying way, and I just couldn’t resist. Each time Mom tore off a strip, I was ready. She would tear, and I would swat. Tape after tape. Honestly, if she didn’t want me involved, why was she waving these things around like toys?
“Gryzka,” Mom muttered as I ended up with a small piece of tape dangling from my whiskers, “this isn’t helping.”
Oh, but it was. Every gift deserves a little something extra, a touch of adventure. And with my marks and tape accessories, these gifts would be absolutely unforgettable.
Mom tried working around me, determined to finish at least one box without my assistance. I watched her as she quickly laid the paper down and tried to position the box at the far end, thinking she could sneak it past me. Amateur move. I bolted over, sliding with an almost Olympic-level stretch, and ended up sprawled across the entire sheet. I gave her a look that clearly said, “You were saying?”
Her face shifted to that “defeated human” expression, but I could tell she was almost enjoying it—almost. “Alright, Gryzka. I get it. You want to help. Here, you can sit on this box while I wrap the others, okay?”
She placed a nice, sturdy box beside her, and while it was a lovely gesture, I knew better. That box didn’t need my help. This one did. As Mom tried to pull the paper over the top, I gave her my fiercest, most committed pounce yet, scattering tape, ribbons, and bows everywhere.
She laughed, throwing her hands up in the air. “Fine! You win, Gryzka. These are officially Gryzka-approved gifts.”
And as I surveyed the chaos we’d created—paper scraps, bits of tape stuck to my tail, a few ribbons trailing off the edge—I felt truly satisfied. Mom may not admit it, but deep down, she knew she couldn’t have done it without me. Each gift was stamped with love, a bit of fur, and the pride of a determined tabby cat.
“Happy to help, Mom,” I meowed, settling into a crinkly nest of leftover paper as Mom cleaned up the scattered supplies. After all, it wouldn’t be the holidays without a little extra touch from me.
No comments:
Post a Comment