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The Christmas tree was, without question, the most dangerous object in the house.
Tom Kazansky knew it the moment Maverick walked in carrying an oversized box, tangled lights, and that grin that only ever meant one thing: chaos.
Eric sat cross-legged on the floor, staring wide-eyed, holding a red ornament like it was treasure.
“It’s magic,” Eric whispered.
Tom smiled before he could stop himself.
Oreo, the black-and-white kitten, sat at a suspicious distance from the tree. Very still.
Too still. His eyes tracked every flicker of the lights Maverick hung with absolutely no plan whatsoever.
Tom crossed his arms.
“I don’t trust that cat.”
“You said that about the microwave,” Maverick replied without looking. “And here we are. Alive.”
Eric giggled.
Maverick winked at him and kept decorating, humming a badly off-key Christmas song.
Tom knelt beside Eric, helping him place a small toy plane near the bottom of the tree.
“Easy,” Tom said softly. “Like that. Good.”
Eric clapped.
And then it happened.
Oreo jumped.
Not just any jump.
A calculated one. Perfect trajectory. Straight toward a shiny ornament hanging just above what Tom considered “safe cat airspace.”
“Oreo, no—” Tom started.
Eric clapped excitedly.
“Look, Tom! Oreo’s flying!”
The branches shook violently. The lights flickered.
The trunk creaked.
Tom didn’t think. He reacted.
In one swift movement, he wrapped both arms around Eric and pulled him back just as the tree began tipping dangerously forward.
One ornament shattered on the floor. Another rolled under the couch.
The tree didn’t fall completely—but it leaned crookedly against the wall.
Silence.
Eric blinked.
Then smiled.
“That was fun.”
Tom let out a slow breath, heart pounding.
“That,” he said firmly, “almost wasn’t.”
Oreo shot out of the branches, landing gracefully on the floor, completely unharmed.
He shook himself, surveyed the chaos… and meowed proudly.
Maverick, meanwhile, was laughing.
A lot. Way too much.
“Did you see that?” he said between laughs. “Perfect aerial strike. Ten out of ten.”
Tom stared at him.
“Help me.”
“I am helping. Emotionally,” Maverick replied, wiping a tear from his eye.
Eric reached for Oreo.
“It’s okay, Tom. Oreo protected me.”
Tom looked down at him. His hands were still shaking slightly.
“I protect you,” he said gently.
Eric leaned into his chest without arguing.
Later, the tree was secured with nearly invisible line and several solutions Tom refused to explain.
Maverick promised—more or less—to watch Oreo. Eric curled up on the couch under a blanket, the kitten asleep on his stomach.
Tom watched them from the kitchen.
“He didn’t jump again,” Maverick said quietly.
Tom nodded.
“He learned.”
Oreo opened one eye.
Clearly, that wasn’t true.