The Night Before Christmas
(with an apology to Clement Clarke Moore)
by
Lauren Roberts
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a kitty was stirring, not even for her toy mouse;
The stockings were hung on the bookcases with care,
In hope that catnip and balls would soon be there.
The cats were nestled all snug in my bed,
While visions of wheatgrass danced in their heads;
And I in my nightshirt, book on my lap
Had just settled in for the eve’s warm nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I looked up from my book to see what was the matter.
Pencil and teacup, glasses put asunder,
I tore open the shutters, my eyes a’wonder.
The moon on the breast of my California lawn
Gave my room the appearance of dawn,
Then suddenly before me I saw the outline
Of a miniature sleigh drawn by
Eight tiny mice, all lookin’ fine.
Amara, Athena, Aphrodite all shivered,
This was a dream which made them quiver.
Eight mice in all lashed one to another,
Two each for them and a few left over,
Plus the man in the sleigh meant something for mother.
“Now, Dasher,” he cried, “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!”
“But where are they going?” cried the cats with a sob,
“It’s the eve before Christmas, and our socks have been robbed,
There are no other toys so precious as those
Mice, fat and juicy and ready to eat.
Furry and deelish and full of good meat.
It was then that we heard up above our heads,
The mice and the man preparing to land;
Back in the house, the prancing and scratching of each little paw
Told me the cats hoped what was coming was indeed what they saw.
But were they prepared for the sight that night
Of a man down the chimney, dressed all in fur?
Tarnished with ashes, it is said to be true,
But with a bundle of toys for the cats who rule.
He wasn’t George Clooney, but he was a sweet man
Who had eyes that twinkled and a southern California tan.
His laughter was engaging, his greeting merry
Oh, how the cats watched him carefully, very.
Fortunately, the pipe was no longer a part
Of Santa’s persona, which I found smart.
From behind the door, the cats and I stared
At the man in red who our chimney would dare.
He now reached in his bag and brought forth a box
He was engaged in his work, filling the socks.
And Amara, Athena, Aphrodite, I saw
Each got three boxes of toys for their paws.
He turned when done though he spoke not a word,
But winked at the cats. And into his bag
He reached once again and brought out the books:
Science and travel, literature and fun, art is good.
He looked at the bookshelves and I could hear him think,
Why would she ask for books when so many are here?
The piles, the stacks, the shelves packed so full
Are more really needed, why doesn’t she just cull?
But he smiled, he knew a booklover needs more,
Books that are hers to read all the year through.
So he dug deeper and found the old one she wanted
Plus all the new ones that would not leave her daunted.
Done, he sprang to his sleigh waiting on the roof,
And away they all flew in a lightning poof.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight.
“Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukkah, Happy Kwanzaa to all,
And to all a good-night!”
Almost since her childhood days of Mother Goose, Lauren has been giving her opinion on books to anyone who will listen. That “talent” eventually took her out of magazine writing and into book reviewing in 2000 for an online review site where she cut her teeth (as well as a few authors). Stints as book editor for her local newspaper and contributing editor to Booklist and Bookmarks magazines have reinforced her belief that she has interesting things to say about books. Lauren shares her home with several significant others including three cats, 750 bookmarks and nearly 1,000 books that, whether previously read or not, constitute her to-be-read stack. She can be reached at
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