It’s Christmas Eve and through the house
There creeps a curious little mouse.
He climbs into the big arm chair
And finds the cookies waiting there.
He only takes the smallest bite.
Santa will find his treat tonight.
He gazes with wonder at the tree
And the bright wrapped gifts left there to be
A mystery tale to tell his spouse,
When he gets home, this curious mouse.
What an adventure it has been,
He has drunk of some spilled over gin,
That had been left upon the table.
His wife will think it is a fable
He has concocted to amuse her.
She is home-bound, we must excuse her.
He once came home all out of breath
To say he had been scared to death
By a huge rat with fluffy tail.
She noticed he was very pale.
“While I was nibbling off some cheese
To bring to you, my love, to please.
He almost had me in his paws.
I’m sure he wasn’t Santa Claus”.
But this night is so very quiet.
He spies some fruitcake, has to try it.
It reminds him of that sip of gin
And wonders if his head will spin.
He hears a noise, runs for his life,
Carrying fruitcake for his wife.
Christmas morning, spread before their eyes
For the baby mice, a grand surprise.
Their mama had fixed a Christmas meal
From food their dad managed to steal.
A bit of butter, a glob of jam
And a fairly good-sized piece of ham.
Bread crumbs saved from other forays.
They had enough to eat for days.
Those little mice would never waste it.
If they didn’t like it they’d still taste it.
This food their mamma set before them,
Their dad risked his life to get it for them.