I hope Laura wired up the tree so it won't fall over, just in case Hilde tries to climb it. When I first moved to New York City just after the 1972 election (it was one of the only places left where humans could be safe), I shared a studio apartment on the Upper East Side with a Student Veterinarian whose name escapes me for a moment. He had two kitties. They had a great time climbing the Christmas tree. And knocking it over. And destroying half of my ornaments at a go. So I started wrapping wire around the tree trunks, and fastening it to the wall or baseboard.
Gosh, I hadn't thought of that apartment for awhile. It was way east on 87th Street, about a half a block from the Mayor's Mansion. It was extraordinarily safe. Single women could (and did) walk their dogs around there at 3am without worry. Our next door neighbors (who became a one apartment, not two) were a radio DJ who broadcast as "Roy Fox", and his girlfriend Ada. She was a stewardess, and a real sweetheart. Every great now and again, she'd bring us a baguette baked fresh that morning. In Paris. Bitch.
My kitty, Jezebel, never exhibited the slightest interest in messing with the Christmas tree. She never climbed it, even though I always wired it up just for safety's sake. She never swatted at low hanging balls, either. I always thought she enjoyed the tree as much as I did and didn't want to mess it up. In all truth, she was probably indifferent to it.
Ahhhh, lookit the time. I have got to run and get cleaned up or I'll miss the bus...