The Night before Christ…Mouse?

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 15, 2013
The Weekly Screed: Christmas Bonus

The Night before Christ…Mouse?

by David Benjamin

… with apologies to Clement Moore and all those who are sick and tired of silly parodies

(To be read aloud, with gusto, between renditions of “Jingle Bells” and “Santa Baby”)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring — except for a mouse.
Inside of a chimney-hung stocking was where
A rodent named Rosie was nesting, and there,
Her mouselings were nestled all snug in their bed,
Fat with the sugar-plums on which they’d just fed.
Now, Rosie had gnawed a small hole in the toe,
So she could see outside and instantly know
If anything odd or untoward was the matter —
Like the din that arose, with a shout and a clatter.
Concerned it might waken her mouse girls and boys
Rosie ran to the window to check out the noise.
When what to her wondering eyes did appear
But a fat man in flight and a whole bunch of deer,
All of them looking as though they might dash
Right into the house in a blood-curdling crash.
But the fat man was nimbler than his girth might suggest,
And the reindeer paid heed to his every behest.
He shouted their names while swooping and swerving:
“Now, Dasher! now Dancer! now Marvin and Irving!
On, Comet and Cupid! Blixen, step on the gas!
And Rudolph, goddammit, quit draggin’ your ass!”
By maybe an inch, he missed hitting the wall
And dropped on the roof like a red wrecking ball.
Rose almost fell down as the house seemed to sway
‘Neath the weight of the fat guy, his deer and his sleigh.
They pawed and they trampled, they slobbered and snorted.
Then Santa (the fat guy) took his bag and transported
The whole load along the very crest of the roof,
His every step loud as a pachyderm’s hoof.
As Rosie turned ‘round, in a timorous crouch,
Old Fats, in the chimney, came down yelling “Ouch!”
How he’d squeezed himself downward, the mouse couldn’t see,
But there he sat, wincing, and rubbing his knee.
His outfit was crimson, his head to his toes,
But the filth in the chimney had ruined his clothes.
He looked like the homeless men Rosie had known
Before she had moved to the ‘burbs, from Downtown.
The fat man was up now. He took in the scene.
The parlor’d been readied. ‘Twas spotlessly clean,
With twinkling lights, garlands, a beautiful tree
The babe in the manger, as sweet as could be,
A wreath on the mantel, with ribbons of silk.
By the tree, on a table, ah! Cookies and milk.
Old Fatso, who saw food, abandoned his bag.
He went for the sweets like a drunk on a jag.
Devouring them hungrily, Fats wanted more;
His round little belly gave out with a roar.
And then he espied them, the stockings all hung —
And lusting for sugar-plums, Santa Claus sprung.
But Rosie, who feared for her sweet baby mice,
Was climbing the fat man. In less than trice,
She had latched to his face with all of her claws;
And his cherry-like nose was clamped in her jaws.
Santa, surprised, spun around like a top
And tripped on his bag. In one mighty flop,
He toppled the tree, his voice shrill with pain,
As balls, lights and angels fell on him like rain.
The family’s father, until then asleep,
Came into the room with a cry and a leap.
“What th’hell’s going on?” he bellowed at Fats.
Screamed Santa, “They’re killing me! Call off your rats!”
Suddenly stage-struck, Rose let go her grip.
Amidst the confusion, ‘twas easy to slip
Through sputtering lights and broken pine boughs
Back to the stocking that served as her house.
The fat man still floundered, a whale on the sand,
Until both the father and wife lent a hand.
Poor Fatso stood reeling, his face red and bleedful,
So sad for himself that he was not heedful
Of two little girls who had come down the stair,
Aware that St. Nicholas — yes! — was right there.
But as Fats stood there wigless, both tots were appalled
By a pissed-off old geezer, fat, sooty, and bald.
The kids got their presents and went back to bed,
Their greed satisfied, their fantasies dead.
“Screw the chimney,” growled Fats, and left by the door,
While Mom and Dad cleaned up. They worked until four.
But Rosie had had a grand Christmas lark.
And so, as she settled back down in the dark,
She purred to her babes, who were all sleeping tight,
“Happy Christmouse to all, and to all a good night!”