'Twas the night before Catmas,
When all through the house,
Not an animal was stirring,
Not even the mouse.

The kitties were snuggled,
And tucked in their beds,
While visions of cat goodies,
Danced in their heads.

Their stockings were hung,
By the cat bowls with care,
In hope that Father Catmas,
Soon would be there.

Out on the rooftop,
There arose such a hissing,
I knew Father Catmas,
Was having trouble parking.

I jumped on the couch,
Stuck my nose to the curtain.
"Here he is!", I purred,
"It is him, I'm certain."

What to my deep blue eyes,
Should appear,
But Father Catmas himself,
In his Catsled gear.

He purred and he purred,
But through the kitty door he went,
Then stopped and smelled the air,
As he picked up a scent.

The cat cookies we left him,
Were by the back door.
The kitties had baked them,
Not an hour before.

He went about his work,
With never a sigh,
Filling the stockings,
With toys piled high.

He waved at me,
With his mighty paw.
Although I was hiding,
'Twas my little nose he saw.

Out the kitty door he went,
In oh such a rush,
Jumped on his catsled,
And yelled out, "MUSH!"

The eight Maine Coon cat team,
Were raring to go.
They hated 'stand stay',
Especially in the snow.

I could hear him hissing,
As he disappeared that night,
"Merry Catmas to all!
OK team, turn rrrrright!"

Author Unknown