'Twas the night before Christmeow, when all thro' the yurt
All the Farm cats were stirring, especially the Sherp;
The ornaments were hung on the Christmaaa tree-t with care,
In hopes that Santa Claws soon would be there;
The publicist and male person were nestled all snug in their bed,
While nipped up Farm cats danced on their heads,
And Harry on his ham-mick and Stinky running a lap,
Had just unsettled Pumpkin's long winter's nap —
When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,
The humans sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the entrance they flew like a flash,
They opened their eyes, They ran in at a dash.
The lights on the tree gave off a soft glow,
Gave the lustre of magic to objects below;
When, what to their wandering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
They knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles those paws took up the game,
And he swatted, and swiped, and knocked them down by name:
"Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer and Vixen,
"On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donder and Blitzen;
"To the bottom, to the floor! To be a toy, a toy for us all!
"Now fall away! Fall away! Fall away all!"
As cat toys, batted by paw, through the air fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, bat it out of the sky;
So up to the top of the couch Sherpa he flew,
With his sight on an ornament to get or maybe two;
And then in a tinkling it was heard on the floor
The sound of breaking. A memory no more.
As the publicist came, Sherpa was turning around,
He ran from the scene, he leapt with a bound:
He left only fur, from his head or his tail,
And the publicist seeing, she started to wail.
A ornament, so special was flung on the floor,
And he look'd oh so innocent sitting by the door:
His eyes — how they shifted, his whiskers how sleek
His attitude was aloof, his movements like a sneak;
His little cat mouth was in - is that a smile?,
And fluff of his tail was poofed out a mile;
A piece of the ornament he held tight in his teeth,
And the publicist encircled his neck like a wreath.
No, she would never hurt his cute face, his round belly
That shook when he ran, like a bowl full of jelly:
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old cat,
And she forgave him for his playful tree act
A wink of her eye and a shake of her head
Soon gave him to know he had nothing to dread.
Sherpa knew he was safe, he knew he was loved,
He ran to the publicist, he gave her cat shoves
And butting her gently with his cute cat nose
He let her know that he won't ever goes.
He sprung to his box he gave a big sigh,
And he settled to sleep, sweet dreams were soon nigh:
But I heard him meow, ere sleep took his fight —
Happy Christmeow to all, and to all a good night.*
*with all due respect to Clement Moore
