For the Witchery Yuletide Calendar Door 7 "Cat".
"Esmeralda, no!" Radovid yells.
However, it is too late. The fluffy, tri-colour tabby cat is already high up in the Yule tree he has positioned next to the fireplace in their living-room. Under her weight, it begins to wobble precariously, then it falls.
Shit! He should have known that the cat would try to catch the shiny glass baubles and many other ornaments he has decorated the tree with. His Yule surprise for his lover.
As fast as he can, the King of Redania sprints over to the fireplace trying to save the work of the afternoon. Alas, he is not fast enough. With a clatter and a thud, the tree hits the wooden cottage floor. Hissing at the devious green thing, Esmeralda has jumped onto the nearby escritoire, upturning the inkwell in the process. A stream of black ink is pouring down the piece of furniture and onto the shards of the broken baubles. What a mess!
Radovid groans. Well, at least Esmeralda is safe where she is and has not cut her paws. Things could have gone worse, so much worse. Imagine what would have happened with the candles lit! The whole cottage could have burnt to the ground because of their silly cat. No, not because of the cat, because he did not anticipated what the cat would do by simply following her instincts. He cannot blame the animal, only himself. And he better clean up the mess before Esmeralda decides to hop down from her safe perch.
Before Radovid can begin, however, the door is flung open wide.
"I heard the noise. What the—?" Jaskier asks, staring at the fallen Yule tree and the ever growing black puddle on the floor.
"Sorry darling. It was supposed to be a surprise. But I was stupid, I can hardly believe how stupid."
"Esmeralda?"
Radovid nods unhappily.
"Aw, don't fret, dear heart." Jaskier gives Radovid a peck on the cheek. "You're still pretty new to this cat-dad thingy. As long as nobody got hurt, we'll be fine." With a fond smile, he gazes at the tabby cat that is sitting on top of the escritoire licking her paws as if she had nothing to do with the chaos on the floor.
"Come here, my bad, bad girl," Jaskier says, carefully stepping over the tree. Esmeralda meows happily and rubs her nose against the bard's face. "Let's get you out of the way while we clean up after you. You'll be safer in the bedroom."
Disposing of the shattered baubles and the other collateral damage of the Yule tree catastrophe does not take long with the two lovers doing it together. The tree looks nice enough even without decorations dangling from its boughs and with just the beeswax candles, they decide after they have put it up again. Cat-safe, Jaskier confirms, and that is what matters more than looks, isn't it? The ink stains do not completely come off, no matter how much they rub, but well, it's not as if it was important. He can buy ten new escritoires if he wanted to, Radovid reminds himself, and have the floor redone in marble and gold. But why would he do that? As long as he is together with Jaskier, the love of his life, he would be happy in a hovel. With Esmeralda, too, of course. They can already hear her loud, indignant meowing through the corridor. No, she does not seem to be happy about having been locked inside the bedroom without her two daddies.
Jaskier darts a meaningful glance at Radovid. They have to get to the bedroom as quickly as possible. No, immediately. Anything else could be considered animal cruelty. And, as soon as Esmeralda has been appeased with a nice treat of tuna and petted thoroughly and has fallen asleep on her favourite pillow at the lower end of the bed, perhaps they could do something fun together, just Radovid and he? They deserve it after the hard cleaning job, right?
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Esmeralda is still roaming the wide world of dreams, her paws twitching from time to time as if she was chasing imaginary mice, when Jaskier and Radovid cuddle up next to each other, thoroughly warm and relaxed and content in the aftermath of their passionate lovemaking.
"You've got ink on your face, darling," Jaskier chuckles suddenly. "And guess what it looks like?"
"No idea," Radovid says with a bright smile. "But I'm sure you'll tell me."
"Like a comma, my sweet comma-king," Jaskier says, tracing the ink stain on Radovid's forehead with his index finger. Then they kiss again.
Maybe they should spend Yule in bed together? Why the hell not?