Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house. A creature was stirring... That creature was Roscoe. He hadn’t meant to stir, and actually would have loved to be warm and sound asleep in his little bed, but it simply wouldn’t be done. Roscoe had already spent hours curled up in his warmest, coziest sleeping position, but thoughts seemed to spring like pins that pricked at the slightest hint of drowsiness.
“My bed is so tiny”, thought Roscoe. “Surely, surely, I will be getting a bigger one for Christmas. It just isn’t… just.”
This led inevitably to a landslide of pin pricks concerning Terry down the street, who bragged every day about what an enormous bed he had and how he was sure to get an even bigger one for Christmas. Except Roscoe probably wasn’t going to receive a thing for Christmas because he couldn’t fall asleep and if he didn’t fall asleep Santa wouldn’t come and-and-
Roscoe shut his eyes tight and pinched himself with his claws. He’d never fall asleep if he kept thinking like that. The chime of the clock sent a chill of despair through him. Another hour gone by. Though the old clock was a minute slow, one doesn’t feel the executioner’s blade can take too long in the coming. Enough was enough. So he had sprung from his cozy too-small bed and decided to take a long walk about the house.
Suppose he hadn’t even been good enough to receive any presents? Wasn’t it even two minutes ago that he was thinking about how jealous he was of Terry’s bed? Obviously there wouldn’t be any presents for such a bad dog as he was and he really oughtn’t get his hopes up and maybe if he was lucky Santa would remember he existed at all and send a stern “You Tried” sticker so he’d know just how far he was from the mark.
Jimmy-that’s the human who sleeps in Roscoe’s room- always used to offer to let Roscoe sleep in his enormous bed high up off the ground. Roscoe couldn’t bear to even contemplate the risks involved. Suppose he got vertigo? Suppose he fell off? Suppose he was way up there and couldn’t find the courage to get down again and there was no one around to help? The idea was beyond absurd. Yet, sometimes he caught himself looking at the fluffy pillows and sighing…
The chill was starting to slow Roscoe’s rapid thoughts as he comforted himself with the lonely hallways of the sleepy house. Most were brightly decorated with brilliant lights that sparkled at all hours of the day, so it took an effort to find an appropriately dismal spot to wallow in self pity. At least he wasn’t a cat. Cat smells still lurked in the forgotten dusty corners of the house, where long ago a cat had snuck away for naps. The basement door wasn’t its usual shadowy state, a burning glow pervaded it, giving it a kind of warped Christmas cheer. Normally that fact would have been quite terrifying, but tonight the light and life seemed welcome. Roscoe paused a moment, mesmerized by the lively shadows it cast.
That cat, that cat, what was its name? There was a picture of it in living room. Maybe it was Sadie. Or if it wasn’t it would be Sadie now. Sadie probably had a life of luxury here, doing absolutely nothing but being held and loved and snuggled with all day. Probably never even gave a second thought to what the cat down the street had or what they ate and how much they ate and how many Christmas presents they got. Roscoe turned to go and take a look at that photo again. It was a pretty family photo taken at Christmas time, little Jimmy and Sadie locked in an embrace. He was so little then he was practically the same size as the cat, but he wasn’t so much bigger now. It seemed somehow bigger tonight, dwarfing his little photo next to it. The new Christmas photo brought back bad memories of a few days before, when they all had had to hold him still to keep him from bolting when they made him look at that terrible flashing light that burned his eyes.
Maybe he should just leave. There was nothing for him here, and really, even if he could fall asleep, what could he have possibly deserved? He was a terrible dog, and that was that. Roscoe had just turned to find his way to the doggie door and snowy white oblivion when the clock began to chime. He sighed, wondering if his absence would be a welcome Christmas present. All this flew from his mind when a great crash rang through the house, and he ran back to his room to find Jimmy gone and the furniture in disarray.
Roscoe ran in a terror all around the empty room. He didn’t know what he was looking for but surely he would find evidence that everything was fine if he just looked harder. The shock finally drove him out and into the hallway. All along the walls the Christmas lights blinded Roscoe with their dazzling intensity. The whole house was burning in the horrid glow of red and green. He finally made it outside, did not know why he had ran so urgently outside, but there they were. Roscoe barked fiercely at the thief, who was loading his sleeping human family into a sleigh. The thief turned at the noise, and smiled down crookedly at the little dog.
“Oh ho ho! Have no fear little dog! I’ve just come to deliver my yearly gifts and noticed that this family is broken. I’m going to run them off to my factory to fix them up. Be a good dog and run along now!”
Roscoe did not run along now. He couldn’t seem to understand what had been said. He was still thinking about it when the sleigh started moving, riding away with _his_ family! Roscoe bolted after it, and chased it on and on until he couldn’t see it anymore, until he couldn’t see anything anymore, and sank heartbroken in a snowdrift.
Roscoe’s head jerked off the floor. He had shifted in his sleep and fallen out of his bed. Jimmy, where was Jimmy? There he was, sound asleep with his little stuffed reindeer. In his excitement Roscoe bounded straight into Jimmy and took a big long sniff of him to reassure himself he was really awake.
“Rossie? Rossie! Aw, you got up here all by yourself! Were you lonely? Oh the clock! Merry Christmas Rossie, haha!
Jimmy wasn’t broken, none of them were. But they were missing a dog. Jimmy’s bed wasn’t up so very high as it had looked, or maybe Roscoe had just never looked, but there weren’t any pins to prick him, and he was foolish to have thought that Jimmy would ever let him go.
