Christmas locked away behind the big white door. Hidden from hungry impatiently devouring eyes.
So many bright, shining narrow little eyes glowing in the early morning gloom like a pack of cartoon rats, ready to rip apart brightly coloured, oh so carefully wrapped, packages. Digging down with busy teeth and scurrying claws, to the sweet bits beneath the outer layers.
Messy little creatures, scratching against the big white door. probing for weak spots.
She comes at last, the Provider, Keeper of all good things. She complains laughingly about our squeaking, squealing, squabbling noise.
He comes, The Authority, he who must be obeyed. The scrabbling, scratching, squeaking ends in abrupt trembling silence.
He swipes Jimmy Rat on the head for the sin of shoulder charging the venerable Georgian door, our entrance to Heaven.
Then he too laughs and the magic key appears in his hand. Oh so slowly, so quicksand, time sucking slow, they key turns in the lock. Click, click, click. Oh the rapid beating of those little rodent hearts, the standing still of breath, the paralysis of time.
The door opens as though a great vacuum has sucked us in. We are in Nirvana.
Running to presents piled around the sparkling beacon of the massive Christmas tree, we are indeed in our own Elysium.
A moment in which we measure our parents' love by the height of our present stack. All is equally measured by the loving wisdom of our Mother.
Collective expiration of deep contented sighs as the ten little rats, beady eyes shining with festive joy, commence their anarchic mayhem,
Happy Christmas one and all.
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