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!
Somewhere pretending to be in the Norff Pole, in the chaos ob another mail room, the elbes are hard at work.
Baxter—wearing his tallest elf hat—stood tall behind da workbench, paws perched on a mysterious box dat absolutely rattled when shaken.
“Dis one’s delicate,” he said berry seriously. “Could be joy. Could be socks. Could be both.”
He tugged da twine, tested da box, and nodded wiff approval. The ornament swayed. Dis elf shift was going excellently.
While some rats stapled and sorted and issued warnings, the elbes handled the behind-the-scenes magic—packing surprises, checking lists, and making sure eberyfing felt just right.
Baxter peeked over da edge ob da table and smiled.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Next box.”
Santa Barry took his post berry seriously.
The Santa gift list wasn’t going to staple itself, and deadlines wait for no one. Barry adjusted his hat, lined up da papers just so, and pressed da stapler wiff focus and qwiet determinashun.
Click.
One stack secured.
One more step toward Christmas.
He paused only to double-check da list (twice, ob course), nodded to himself, and murmured: “Organization is da real holiday magic.”
So if your calemdar ships on time, know dis: It passed fru Santa Barry’s stapling department, and he did not rush da job.
Fish climbed up onto the desk, adjusted his Santa hat so it leaned just right, and cleared his throat in a very serious, very important way.
“ATTENSHUN, EBERYONE,” he announced, paws spread wide. “Dis is an OFFISHUL CALEMDAR WARNING.”
He leaned forward, whiskers twitching wiff urgency.
“Due to internashunal bizness, mail trucks, holidays, weather, vibes, and general chaos… calemdars ordered too late may not arribe before Christmas. Or before actibashun date. And dat would be… not ideal.”
Fish paused to let the gravity sink in.
“If you are planning to gib a calemdar as a gift, or if you need it actibated right on time so you don’t miss important fings like Missing Sock Day, or important raisin warnings, or general joy—”
he pointed dramatically at the desk, “—you should order SOON.”
He nodded solemnly, like a tiny seasonal newscaster.
“We are doing our berry best in the mail room. Reuben is pulling wagons. Barry is stacking like a champion. Teddy is superbising. I am… issuing warnings.”
Fish gave a final, reassuring smile.
“Order early. Be smart. Be festibe. And den we can all relax and hab cheese.”
Warning issued. Internashunal bizness concluded.
Get yours at the StoreObCuteFings.com
Barry wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up in charge today, but when he arribed in the mail room wearing his Santa hat, Teddy already had a clipboard, a pencil, and the air of someone who had appointed himself Assistant Manager.
“Okay, Barry,” Teddy said, “we hab a big day. Wall calemdars are almost gone. Dis is crunch time.”
Barry nodded solemnly. He took his job berry seriously—much more than Fish eber did, and only slightly less seriously than Reuben did. He placed both paws on the towering stack ob envelopes and gave them a firm pat. Quality control.
“Dese are ready for labeling, Teddy. Can you reach da top one?”
Teddy tried. He could not. Barry helped by gently tipping the stack down so Teddy could place the label, although Teddy did it upside-down, which Barry pretended not to notice because he didn’t want to hurt his coworker’s feelings.
Barry worked steadily—sorting, stacking, smoothing each enbelope wiff great care. He eben did the fing where you squish the edges to make sure everything is sealed, because Barry believes in integrity.
Ebery so often, he looked up and said loudly (just in case customers could somehow hear fru the walls): “WALL CALEMDARS ARE RUNNING LOW! If you want one, you should probablee act fast! We don’t want anyone to miss out!”
Teddy nodded hard enuff to fall ober.
Barry picked him back up, dusted him off, and whispered, “We’re doing important bizness today.”
They finished their stack, and Barry leaned back proudly. He loved this part—the feeling ob helping get the calemdars out to their people, spreading Baxter wiff a B and Memes joy around the world.
“Okay, Teddy,” he said. “Break time. You can hab a tiny cookie.”
Teddy approbed this message.
(You can get your calemdars here: martymousehouse.bigcartel.com)
Fish watched from the office window as Reuben disappeared down the street wiff the wagon full ob calemdars. The moment Reuben turned the corner, Fish spun around dramatically, looked at Teddy, and whispered:
“Ok. Phase Two ob Operashun Secret Science Gift… commence!!”
Teddy, who habs been sworn to secrecy (and bribed wiff one mini marshmallow), nodded solemnly.
Fish scampered to the craft table, grabbed the box containing the science fings—tiny beakers, a moon rock, sparkly galaxy stickers, and a berry advanced, and possibly illegal and unlicensed particle collider and plopped it down in front of him. He pulled his Santa hat down ober one ear like a true undercober operatibe.
“Reuben cannot know,” Fish said as he inspected the tape dispenser. “He is too curious. If he sees the box, he will ask qwestions. And den he will figure out what the present is, because he is too smart. So we had to send him on a — he lifted the tape triumphantly — mail run!
Teddy fell ober, which Fish interpreted as applause.
Wiff great seriousness, Fish wrapped the box. Well—attempted to wrap. Wiffin two minutes:
The tape was stuck to his paw, the ribbon was stuck to his tail, the wrapping paper was stuck to his face and Teddy had somehow been wrapped into a half-mummified bundle.
But Fish was determined. He freed himself, freed Teddy, and finally—FINALLY—got the paper smoothed down in a way that looked only slightly chaotic. He added a big bow on top, pressed it flat, then booped it for good luck.
“Perfect,” he said proudly. “Reuben will neber suspect a fing.”
Teddy nodded in agreement, though he still had a scrap of wrapping paper stuck to his nose.
Fish placed the gift under a blanket for safekeeping, dusted off his paws, and announced:
“Now we just gotta act normal. Totally normal. Not suspicious at all.”
Which is exactly when Reuben walked back in and Fish froze like a deer in headlights.
Reuben squinted at him. “Fish… why is there tape on your whiskers?”
Fish smiled a bit too much. “Internashunal bizness reasons.”
Reuben had barely finished placing the last label when Fish—who had returned from his cheese break berry refreshed—announced:
“OKAY! Final step ob Internashunal Bizness Operations: mailrun. And Reuben, you’re da fastest, so… good luck!”
Before Reuben could protest, Fish handed him a tiny Radio Flyer wagon piled high wiff outgoing calemdars and gabe a very unhelpful thumbs-up.
So off Reuben went, pulling the wagon down the long city street like the most determined little business rat eber. The enbelopes shifted and wobbled, but he kept one paw on the wagon’s side, making sure not a single order escaped.
Ebery few steps he muttered to himself, “Fish could hab halped. Fish should have halped. Fish is probably taking another cheese break right now…”
A gust ob wind blew a leaf past him dramatically. Reuben ignored it—he was a professional.
When he finally arribed at the big blue mailbox, he took a deep breaff, stood up tall, and started mailing the packages one by one. Each enbelope made a satisfying fwip as it slid inside—proof that the Internashunal Bizness had been conducted wiff excellence.
When the last one dropped in, Reuben dusted off his paws proudly. Task complete. Shipments sent. Customers happy.
Reuben sighed wiff contentment… and started pulling the wagon home again.
Get your calemdars here: https://martymousehouse.bigcartel.com/
Sometimes we just hang around the house in our holiday finery, as one does.
