The Christmas Mouse

‘Twas three nights before Christmas and all the through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, except for a mouse.

We named him Stuart; he was grey and fat,

And when I walked in the kitchen, there he sat.

He ran for the counters, the window, then stove;

He crawled in somewhere--nobody knows.

We waited with angst for him to appear;

For the tiniest movement, we waited with fear.

Then with a groan the stove started to slide;

We screamed, ran for cover, and all tried to hide.

Then it dawned on us, mice can’t move stoves!

So within a moment, laughter came in droves.

The mouse is still hiding; we hope he soon finds the door,

Because if we find him, we will settle the score.