Just when Barry was mentally drafting his calm-but-firm complaint, Reuben appeared down the aisle, crumbs on his whiskers and hope in his eyes.

“Barry,” he whispered, reverently. “I found one.”  Barry turned.

There it was. A Jelly Belly machine. Shiny. Full. Operational.

Reuben rested one paw on it like it was a trusted old friend. He had already tested it, ob course. Once. Maybe twice. The jelly beams sat happily inside, loose and willing, absolutely not wedged in an existential standoff.

Barry approached slowly, not wanting to scare it.

Reuben put in the change and turned the knob.

Clack. Whirr. Success!! Jelly beams poured out like a miracle.

Barry’s shoulders relaxed. The tension left his tiny body. Order had been restored. The uniberse, it seemed, still worked… just not the first machine.

They shared the jelly beams on the counter — Barry sorting by color, Reuben qwietly nibbling and nodding, as if to say yes, this one understands us.

Barry looked at the broken gumball machine one last time, then back at the jelly beans on the counter. “Well,” he said, “at least we got candy.”

Reuben smiled and nudged the pile closer. “Sometimes,” he said, “that’s all you need.”

We had a bisit wiff Dr. Peff this morning, mostly for our cat Charlie, but the littles came along too for a quick peek, just to make sure all the tiny noses and whiskers were in good shape. Fankfully all is ok — no surprises, no drama, just a lot ob patient waiting and listening to Charlie cry about the car ride. Afterward, we all came home, had some residoo to celebrate being healthy and brabe, and then settled in for a long, cozy nap where ebryone piled up (not wiff Charlie) and let the day slow down again.

Fish set up his kissing boof on the first snowy morning ob winter, wiff a tiny red hat pulled down snug between his ears. He didn’t know exactly why anyone would want to kiss a small gray rat, but Reuben said it was “for charity,” and Fish liked charity. Also tips (for cheese).

He clutched his snack wiff both paws, eyes wide and hopeful, sitting as straight as he could behind the little table. The cup beside him rattled softly as snowflakes fell, and ebery time someone walked by, Fish leaned forward just a bit, as if to say, “I am bery professional and ready.”

Most passersby smiled. Some laughed. A few dropped coins in the cup just because they couldn’t resist him. Fish decided that eben if no kisses were exchanged, it was still a success — he made people happy, earned enough for cheese later, and stayed warm wiff his friends nearby.

All in all, Fish concluded it was a bery good day to be small, sweet, and just a little bit brabe.

Santa’s big night was ober. The sky had quieted, the snow had stopped whispering, and ebery last present had found its way home. So Santa tiptoed back to his own little house, red hat still tilted just a bit sideways, paws tired but his heart was berry happy.

He leaned on his silver stool and sighed a happy sigh. The cookies were gone (mysteriously), the cocoa was lukewarm, and the little tree by his door blinked its lights one last time, proud ob its hard work. Outside, the woods rested, wrapped up in snow like a big cozy blanket.

Santa hung up his hat carefully — not goodbye, just “see you later.” He tidied his lists, smoothed the corners, and tucked them away for safekeeping. There was nothing left to rush, nowhere left to hurry. For now, the world could rest.

So Santa waited. He watched the snow drift. He listened for distant dreams. He practiced his “Ho Ho Ho” berry qwietly so it would be extra jolly next year.

And as the months would pass, and the lights would sleep, and the tree would wait patiently in memory, Santa would be right there in his house — resting, smiling, and getting ready.

Because Christmas always comes back.And Santa always does too.

Fank you Ratty Box for this wonderful box full ob goodies including (but not pictured) a Reindeer hammock and Nutri-Berrie snacks!