The designers drew this tower the way an old tree grows — a trunk, reaching limbs, platforms where a branch would rest a body. Artisans pick aged teak for each limb, send it twenty days through the kiln so it stays rigid and insect-free, round every edge by hand, and finish the wood smooth so paws and palms read the same surface.
Most cat trees are carpet-wrapped cardboard you shove in the spare room before company arrives. This one stands seventy inches tall in the living room and takes a sixty-pound leap without a shudder — solid limbs, a weighted base, claw marks that spot-sand out in about ten minutes. Guests read it as a sculptural shelf until the cat proves otherwise, and no one apologizes for it.