The Night thread before Spatsmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, except for Spats;
Had just settled my brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the living-room there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Spats had knocked over his cat tower.
“Damnit, cat why do you always do this a night?”
He just purred, rubbed my leg and walked to the food.
“You were feed today already, not feeding you again.”
Spats let loose a howl of anger.
He dashed at me. Clawed the leg and hid under the chair.
I screamed in surprise. Flash of anger.
Threw back the chair and pick up the cat.
All the while screaming “What is wrong with you!”
Then I remembered the season.
And gave him some more food.
He ate is excitedly and happily.
As he finished he rushed away.
But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”
I don’t care that this doesn’t rhyme.