My annual Christmouse message

My story, composed with the help of my poetic friend, kafkaa roach, in the year when four reindeer left Santa for better-paid jobs in freight haulage.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and in the big house  

The last creature stirring was Mortimer Mouse  

Devising some uplifting sentiments new  

To fill up his masterpiece Keep Squeaking Through:  

Motivational mush from a born optimist,

The book that will soon top the bestseller list.

His secret reason for keeping awake  

Was trusting that Santa Claus wasn’t a fake. 

A message to Santa he’d sent up the flue  

Asking for Wensleydale and Cornish Blue. 

He knew well that Santa faced billions of pleas  

But hoped he could drop in some small bits of cheese. 

For hours poor Mortimer paced in the dark  

As even the foxes slept on in the park,

Screechless at last in the moon’s pallid light,  

Their usual junkfood feast off for one night.  

One thought beat on Mortimer’s soul like a drum: 

Had he been too naughty for Santa to come?  

At last he could hear a faint noise on the roof.  

He tried to believe that it might be a hoof. 

He pinned back his ears and strained hard to hear more,  

But just then a note was pushed under his door. 

It said “Owing to factors beyond my control  

I cannot deliver now to your mousehole. 

There’s a terrible shortage of hauliers this year

And I’ve lost as many as four of my deer. 

I’ve no ruddy Dancer and no ruddy Vixen  

And no takeout Donner and no sign of Blitzen.  

With four missing reindeer I haven’t the speed  

To visit each household and drop what they need.  

If you give me a name I will certainly labour  

To leave your request with a suitable neighbour.”  

The same message appeared under millions of doors  

All signed “Yours regretfully, (Mr) S Claus.”  

Poor Mortimer sniffled but did not repine.  

He took up his pen and wrote a new line  

Of uplifting thought for his uplifting book.  

He stiffened his sinews and told himself “Look,  

Things could be much worse when the times are like these.  

If Santa can’t visit, I’ll make my own cheese.”  

And this is what Mortimer wrote with a smile  

(The King’s Christmas message could learn from his style):  

The sky may be dark but it still is the sky  

And it’s waiting there for you if you choose to fly.  

So soar like an eagle and don’t be a grouse  

Signed, Yours very truly  

Mortimer Mouse.