The Loving Parents placed the star on the tree, and stood back to admire it. It has taken hours, but it was perfection. The baby at their feet crawled over to get a better look, pawing at the pile of pristinely wrapped presents on the floor round it. Nearly a year old, it would be her first Christmas.

Satisfied, Loving Father returned to work in his office. Loving Mother started typing her next novel on an Amstrad word processor.


Loving Mother’s head whipped round. Loving Father shot out of his office.

The baby lay giggling and gurgling under the wreckage, enjoying the unexpected tinsel-shower. She’d only wanted to see the sparklies up close.

The Loving Parents sighed, cleaned up, and stood the Christmas Tree on top of a coffee table, safe from small chubby hands. An hour later the tree was, not perfection, but a lovely and heart-warming festive sight.

The Loving Parents went back to their daily grind, secure in the knowledge their only child was safe from the evils of The Christmas Tree. The clocked ticked. The computer keys tapped. The baby gurgl…


The Loving Parents ran in, hysterical, “How could little baby Naomi have climbed onto the table??”

And there was the cat, sitting amongst the smashed baubles and pine needles, quietly and carefully licking himself.

Across the room, baby Naomi smiled at him.

He might have smiled back.