It’s the Pawliday Season

 
In case you haven’t noticed recently, what with the overcrowded malls, decorating of evergreens, and reports of bloodshed as people mob stores in search of that perfect Christmas gift, the pawliday season has indeed arrived. And I imagine that most of you have been dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleigh (well, maybe not: it’s not the most efficient means of travel) as you rush to all the activities, concerts, and parties this time of year brings.
 
We in the Rat hovel have likewise been very busily scampering around, stringing nestlet fodder in festive fashions and making sure the cheese balls we’ll bring to our ratty friends’ get-togethers are as squeak-a-licious as can be. My wife, Bobette, and I are looking forward to a brief getaway at a cottage in the mountains (or, if we can’t manage that, at least go to a cottage cheese mountain), and our octuplets, Harry, Larry, Barry, Jerry, Mary, Sherry, Kerry, and Terry are beside themselves with excitement waiting for Santa Paws to make his annual visit. (This year they’re all hoping he’ll leave cheese nips in their droppings – er, stockings.)
 
We’re also looking forward to making the rounds visiting our comrats: my corpulent pal Gus, who puts the “Gus” in “disgusting” with the gross grub that comprises his diet, is sure to have a block of limburger waiting for us when we stop by his sewer, while his antithesis, Slim, will likely be serving part-skim mozzarella. But as much as I value what’s on my plate, I enjoy spending time with my ratty companions even more.
 
Likewise, I hope your pawliday festivities will be filled with family, friends, fun, and food, and that you won’t be left in a ratatonic state after consumption of the latter. So while the merry bells keep squeaking, Happy Pawlidays to you!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob