Naughty or Mice

 
Tick – tock – tick – tock … only hours to go until C-Day! (You know, “C” for Christmouse.) In the Rat hovel, my octuplet pups are making their last appeals to Santa Paws for inclusion in the Nice category of his “Naughty or Mice” list.
 
For days they’ve been trying to make up for a year’s worth of pawful behavior. Harry and Larry are hard at work repairing the drywall they gnawed through in my human family’s house, while Barry and Jerry are in the bathroom scrubbing their incisors and promising no cavities on their next trip to the rodentist. Mary, Sherry, and Kerry, whose favorite pastime is dressing their little sister, Terry, in dolls’ clothes, are quickly returning their rattention to their actual toys, and the tiniest octuplet, whose favorite pastime is chewing said doll clothing, is rapidly mending the holes.
 
And so we come to tonight, Christmouse Eve. They’ve stuffed themselves into their nestlets and are hoping to awake to pawkings stuffed with cheese crumbs. My wife, Bobette the Mouse, and I can only sit back and laugh at our hybrid rice offspring (because rice is what you get when rats marry mice); we understand that their high starch content contributes to those extreme energy levels.
 
Truth be squeaked, they’re nice rice far more often than not. Our little pups are one – make that eight – in a million, and even though they can be ratscals at times, Bobette and I wouldn’t trade them for all the cheese in the world. Nope; tonight I’ll leave my own letter of appeal to Father Christmouse letting him know how pawsome they are, and ask that the only one to get coal this year be the cat!
 
Keepin’ it squeak,
Bob