Not a creature was stirring

It's Christmas Eve and Ma and Pa are snug in their vascular beds...the mice, however, are just rousing from their naps and rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Where Saint Nick can't fit, tiny white mice hang miniature candy canes and stuff tiny mouse-stockings with pumpkinseeds and the marshmallows out of children's cereals, bake thimble-sized puddings and acorn (no squash, just acorns), and Momma Mouse lifts the peanut half-shell to reveal a fine cheese souffle with extra cheese. As the winter wind squeals through the trees and eaves, squeaky fiddles are tuned and even squeakier voices warm up as mouse maids tuck their tails for line dancing.
Later that night, under a fern blade bedecked with fireflies, dozens of childmice open tiny presents wrapped in onion skins and tied with mousewhiskers.