My Least Favorite

I didn't ask for a cat for Christmas. I have enough as is. And yet, as I sit around the Christmas tree, eyeing my present - movement.

The box moved. Almost like how I moved away to avoid things like this. Isn't my family supposed to know me best? Do they not know I already have three cats? I'm astounded, really.

"Is it my turn, yet? What's the order, again? I already forgot." I asked shyly, attempting to have the proper tone. Christmas, birthdays, anything that involves presents and feelings all require an emotional tact and a form of patience I simply was not born with. This is me at my unemotional, emotional best. Don't let it show how disappointed you are it's another cat.

"No, we're going youngest to oldest - you're up after Nema, and Grover just went." My dad responds flatly. He's allowed to have, 'a tone' (or - lack of?) with these things. He knows for sure what his present is. It's the same thing he asks for every year, and the same thing we all get him every year. Simply, socks. As an adult, I can see why he gets that pass. I never understood it as a child.

"Alright, thank you," I reply, feeling certain my cover is still decent.

As the family assembly line of unwrapping, tearing, viewing, thanking ritual ticks closer to me, all I can think of is how ungrateful I will certainly have to seem at some point. I don't know how to explain this concept to family outsiders. My three cats were all Christmas and birthday presents. Yes, all from my same family. Do they forget, is there a sort of mental timer that ticks down and wipes their memory a few weeks before Christmas, or what?

I see the box shift, yet again. Beautiful, metallic blue glittered wrapping paper. Beautiful box size, for a cat. I can't imagine why anyone would willingly wrangle a cat (not a kitten - let me be clear here) into a box, and hurriedly wrap it just before I arrive, for years in a row. Was one time not enough?

"Now, Dee, it's your turn! What do you think it is!?" Nema speaks as if she's rabid. In a sense, she is - she has more than one present, and well... any stalling on any gift-receiver's part means she is further away from opening hers. I get it - I was her age once, too. I wish I was still excited for gifts. On my life, I would be excited if I knew it wasn't another cat.

Another cat. Another bill. Another mouth to feed, another living thing that requires routine check-ups, dental care, vaccines, socialization... an added litterbox, an added cat tree, I'll have to add more toys because Baby, Dime, and Hokey are all hyper-possessive of their toys, the mental list goes on and on. Please, God. Anything but another cat. Maybe next year?

All of a sudden it clicks. This has to be a joke. No way my family would gift me another cat after hearing how cramped and crowded my little apartment is. I have spoken to them at minimum, five times about how the lack of space means Baby, Dime, and Hokey fight more. Adding another, unknown cat to my already struggling financially, cramped, hectic life? No, they wouldn't. They wouldn't.

In the two seconds it took me to have that thought, the present is on my lap.

"Shake it! What do you think it is!?" Nema repeats, irritated by my lack of response. She could not be more irritated than me, the woman gaining a fourth cat despite all signs pointing to me not wanting a cat.

"...Shake it? I think I'll pass... I think this is another cat. Is this another cat?"

"No, no, no, bro, I promise it's not another cat, just open it already!" She's up out of her sitting position in excitement. "It's something special, that's for sure!" She stands, and reaches to open my present. Cat or not, I cannot deny I do enjoy the act of opening the present. That's my time.

"Hey, hey, hey, okay, okay!" I defensively place my arm between her and the cat gift, using my other arm to begin my careful, saves-the-wrapping-paper unwrapping.

Please, God. Somehow make it not a cat. Anything is better than a cat. Please, please, please, somehow, God, hear my prayer. Isn't Shrodinger's Cat a thing? God, you can have the cat. I'm sure you have enough time in eternity to give it all the love and care it deserves. God knows -- well, you are God, so you know I don't have that kind of time or energy.

As I finish unwrapping the box, I lift it onto the living room table for the grand reveal. Before I can open the box myself, Grover reaches over and knocks it off the table, and out it falls.

God. God. God.

No, God. I take it back.

"Oh --" I can feel my heartbeat is out of natural rhythm. "Oh, Grandma's... Grandma's tarot cards. What the eff, ahahaha, um, why the big box?" A room wide boom of laughter begins. An eruption of emotion from everyone.

"We knew you'd think it was a cat!"

God? God? God?

"So you... instead of a cat, hahaha, you gave me --"

Another boom, this one a group reply.

"THE CURSED TAROT DECK!"

God. God. God. Did you switch the cat? God, are you there? God? God, please. God, did you switch the cat? God. God, please. I saw the box move with my own eyes. I'm not tired, I haven't been drinking. God?

God? Are curses real? God, please, I didn't mean anything else like this.

...God, are you there?

I'm snapped out of my internal terror by another terror. Nema has gotten close enough to me to whisper.

"Don't worry - I saw it move, too. L. O. L. Maybe they are for real haunted, haha!" She jokes as she hands me the deck.

God. God. God. Please.

...anybody? Can I just... put them back? Close the box? Fuck.

Not Schrodinger's Cat.

Pandora's box.