The Cat Before Christmas

 by Eric

 

'Twas the Night Before Christmas when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse

 

Lies! All Lies! I’m a creature. And I was stirring. Us cats are night owls. Why would tonight be any different? And a mouse was stirring too. But he isn’t any more. He was delicious. . . .

 

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care

 

The stockings I shredded and threw in the air. Well. I’m sorry. My back claws needed sharpening. . . . .

 

In hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there

 

Don’t know him. Hope he isn’t too mad that I knocked over the glass of milk Honey left for him and drank it.

 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads;

 

Somehow, after seeing her sneak off with Brian during the Bob-White Christmas party tonight to hang out under a giant bundle of mistletoe, I think that Honey went to bed with other visions.

 

And mamma in her ‘kerchief . . .

 

And don’t forget her sensible shoes.

 

. . . and I in my cap

 

Stuff me in a cap and I won’t be held responsible for what I do to you.

 

Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap

 

Been napping all day. It’s time to get up and patrol my house.

 

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

 

What in the world is Mr. Wheeler doing in that big red suit and fake white beard? And what are all those pretend Reindeer on the front of the car?

 

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
gave the lustre of midday to objects below,

 

I still don’t know why people make such a big deal about being able to see in the moonlight. I see just fine in the dark anyway.

 

when, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer.

 

Actually a decorated limousine with plastic lit up deer attached to the front.

 

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles, his courses they came,
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

 

Good thing Tom is driving. I think Mr. Wheeler had a little too much spiced rum in his egg nog during the Christmas party. Talking to plastic animals. People crack me up sometimes. . . .

"Now Dasher! Now Dancer!
Now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid!
On, Donner and Blitzen!

To the top of the porch!
To the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away!
Dash away all!"

 

You know if Mr. Lytell named cats like Santa named deer I think we would have all run away. But seriously. He could have just told Tom to put the limo in the garage. Something about this time of year makes people act really strange. . . . .

 

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
so up to the house-top the courses they flew,
with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

 

Actually now it looks like Mr. Wheeler is climbing a ladder to the roof with his bag of presents while Tom puts the car in the garage. No good can come of this. . . .

 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
the prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

 

Actually I hear him crashing through an upstairs window. And some very un-Christmas like language. He really ought to be more careful. He is a human, and not as agile as us cats.

 

As I drew in my head and was turning around,
down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

 

Now he is stumbling down the stairs hobbling on the knee he smashed on the window sill and rubbing his head. Thank god he didn’t try the chimney. He might have really hurt himself.

 

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

 

No soot. Just lint, loose silver garland stuck to him by static cling, and a lot of my hair that I shed on that suit this summer while exploring the attic.

Well? I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know? He never wore it. . .

 

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

 

Oh boy! I hear a cat toy! I know that rattle anywhere.

 

His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

 

Actually, I think he lost his pipe in the snow on the roof of the veranda, and his pillow ‘belly’ looked like it was loosing some of it’s stuffing. He did look like he had regained control of his temper. He was already humming Deck the Halls. Something tells me this is an old tradition for him and one he really enjoys.

 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

 

I laugh at him and all these crazy people all the time. And tonight is no exception.

 

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

 

I really shouldn’t laugh at him like this. He really is a good person. All the people in my life are. They’ve given me a very good home and lot to be grateful for.

 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
and filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.

 

He very lovingly and carefully arranged all the presents under the tree. And he wasn’t even mad or disappointed when he saw what I had done to the stockings. He just laughed and found someplace else to put the stocking stuffers.

 

And laying his finger aside of his nose,
and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

 

He spent several minutes looking over the tree and the presents he had arranged, and the walked over to pet me. I was nice to him even though his hands were cold. He gave me my toy. It was interesting, and I would play with it later, but there was something I absolutely had to do first. I couldn’t resist. I leapt up to grab the white fluffy ball at the end of his hat and bat it around. He just laughed and took the hat off to give to me. I was in the process of fighting with it while rolling around on the floor when he calmly walked up to go back to bed.

 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

"Happy Christmas kitty!" Mr. Wheeler called from the top of the stairs.

 

You know, there is a lot of crazy things people do. They live in a very strange and complicated world. Some things about the world they have made for themselves are bad and needless. Some things are neat and wonderful. And I fully admit there is a lot about being a person I don’t understand, and probably never will. But right at that moment one small part of their big and complicated world suddenly became clear to me. This tree, and these boxes with ribbons and these costumes and these traditions are part of some special way they have of expressing love and thanks and celebrating love and togetherness. I’ll never understand why they go to all this trouble. I am happy with a full food dish, a house to explore and people to pay attention to me and pet me. But I guess in the end it really doesn’t matter. It makes them happy, and I like it when they are happy just as much as I like it when I’m happy.

So from a cat who has just kind of figured out what you crazy humans are doing, and what you are celebrating this time of year, and what this crazy poem is saying, Merry Christmas.

 The End

Credit where Credit is Due: ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas by Clement Clarke Moore.

GWP #9