A tubby little rat sneaks into the kitchen after Christmas dinner, looking for some scraps...

Haven't done a thing for myself in a while, so threw this together. Hope you enjoy it. Happy holidays!

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‘Twas the night of Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring…

Well, apart from the rat poking her head out from under the sofa. The TV was playing some kind of holiday special but the master of the house - Greg was his name - was asleep in his chair, snoring amongst a sea of cans, hand on his large gut.

All clear.

Pixie scurried across the floor, the carpet silencing her steps as she made a beeline for the kitchen. Her mane of head fur, long enough to reach the small of her back, flowed behind her. Thankfully the drone of the TV drowned out the scrapes of her claws against the hardwood in the main hallway, and then the kitchen tile. She knew this house like the back of her paw, thanks to living in her own little hideaway in between the walls. She knew the routines of its owners as well, and she particularly looked forward to the days they called Thanksgiving and Christmas. Judging by the snow outside, and the pine tree covered in strange knick knacks, she deduced today was the latter. Thankfully it was nice and warm inside.

Rats are typically speedy little creatures, but if one managed to get a good look at Pixie, they’d be surprised at how she could move so quickly. The house’s kitchen was always well stocked with the most succulent meals and tastiest treats, and of course she was happy to help herself to what was left over when the lights were out. And the combination of an insatiable appetite with an iron stomach led to predictable results, as she looked more like a furry chocolate ball the size of a human adult’s fist. Fittingly, she had an affinity for sweets in particular. The cute pink T-shirt and shorts didn’t fit her as well as the doll she stole it from, her belly showing quite a bit and her backside straining the seat.

Inside the kitchen, Pixie rose up on her tiptoes, her round belly protruding outward as her nose twitched. She smirked. She could smell it now; cooked meat, fresh vegetables and delicious goodies, all emanating from the counter. And she was certain the cupboards and the fridge contained even more. She greedily rubbed her paws together.

“Dinnertime~”

She plodded over to the drawers and grabbed the lowest handle, grunting as she hoisted her oversized body up enough for her footpaws to hold on. She wrapped her tail around it for security as she reached for the next drawer, and then the next. She was huffing and puffing by the time she reached the top, clambering onto the counter and rolling onto her back to take a moment and catch her breath.

“I wish kitchens had stairs,” she muttered to herself between deep breaths. “Or one of those ‘elevator’ things.”

But still, she had made it, and when she rolled up into a sitting position, the view she was met with was worth the effort. Plates, bowls and cooking trays of scraps not yet cleaned up laid strewn along the counter, accompanied by half-filled glasses. Behind them was a stack of tupperware containers and a silver dome, no doubt full of leftovers. For some reason, the family always cooked a lot more food for this ‘Christmas’ thing, and they always made far too much to finish in one night.

It was a good thing that, unbeknownst to them, they had their own food disposal. Pixie licked her lips and got to work.

She started with the closest plate, nibbling the remains of turkey meat from the bones. Cooked to perfection as always. Some globs of cranberry sauce too. She eagerly scooped them into her paws and crammed them in, licking residue off her face. The small bits of mashed potato were soft and mushy, just how she liked it.

“Mm, a hint of parsley,” she murmured as she swallowed some scraps of turkey skin. Judging by how little was on the plate, she guessed this was the house master’s. That made sense, given Greg was the largest human there. She respected someone with an iron stomach like hers, but she wished he would leave her a little more to steal.

Satisfied with her work, she moved onto the next plate. She was pleased to see there was plenty more here; empty bones, but at least half a cut of ham, some gammon, and a cob with a few bits of corn left. The master’s wife, no doubt. Susan, her name was Of the three humans, she was the one the most suspicious of Pixie. She’d often overhear things about ‘dealing with the rat’, and the words ‘poison’ and ‘cat’ popped up more than once. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to be the cruel type and didn’t follow through on those threats.

Hence why Pixie would do the honours of emptying Susan’s plate for her this night. She eagerly tore into the ham, savouring every juicy mouthful. The gammon was still glistening as well, the fat rat moaning blissfully as she chewed. It was like bacon but ten times better, especially when she chased it with a few licks of gravy left on the plate. She moved onto the cob, helping herself to whatever bits of corn were still attached.

“Ooh, there’s cheese on it!” she squeaked giddily. While most rodents actually weren’t too fond of cheese, Pixie was more than happy to lean into the stereotype. It was her firm belief that any food humans have invented could be improved tenfold with either cheese or sugar. She was pleased to be proven right yet again.

Satisfied, she washed it down with whatever was in the glass - all she knew was that it was fizzy and tasted good - and hiccuped as she moved onto the final plate. She had been looking forward to this one; an almost untouched turkey leg, a mound of mash and a thick sliver of pork, all lathered in gravy, with a side of a few sprouts drowned in melted cheese. Definitely belonging to Joey; the youngest human, and Pixie’s favourite. He was the only one in the house who had ever locked eyes with the rat, and she was convinced he was leaving out food for her on purpose, judging by the pile of oats she’d find on the counter most nights while rooting around. This night though, she was certain this little smorgasbord was left out on purpose just for her.

She silently said her thanks to the young man upstairs - probably asleep, waiting for this ‘Santa’ person to show up, whenever that would be - and got right to work on what was essentially the main course. She wasn’t disappointed by the mouthfuls, combining some cheesy sprout with some gravied pork, and was ecstatic to discover that beneath the gravy layer on the mash was some melted cheese!

“You are definitely - urp! - my favourite,” she grunted, gently patting her belly when she was finished with the plate. Her middle had distended quite a bit by that point, looking even rounder and feeling rather firm. She wiped a glob of gravy she’d inadvertently dropped on the sloped shelf of her stomach and sucked it off her paw. She carefully tilted the plastic cup, allowing the black fizzy stuff to pour past her lips to wash it all down. Soda, the humans called it. Tangy and sugary, just how she liked it.

Her belly gurgled and sloshed like a hot water bottle as she lumberd away from the plates. Her T-shirt was more like a crop top at this point. The cooking tray had a mostly whole turkey skeleton, with quite a bit of meat left on it. A few big mouthfuls of it went down a treat as she passed it.

She reached the tupperware tubs, stifling a burp as she carefully popped open the one containing shreds of turkey. She crammed some into her mouth, followed by some bites of a slice of ham, then some gammon. She gulped it all down, and took a moment to rub her bloated, aching belly. Then she stuffed her cheeks with stuffing, moaning softly at the hint of thyme. A few mouthfuls of mash were easily washed down when she leaned into the gravy boat and lapped from it like water. She nearly toppled the whole thing over with how weighed down she’d become, but she let go and plopped on the counter with another squeaky belch.

She had flopped onto her back, pinned by her overfilled middle. The round brown sphere of fur was gurgling with alarm, warning her not to go much further. If it were any other day, she would quit while she was ahead and sneak back out to her den. But this was Christmas, a time for the biggest feast of the year, and she was going to take a good dozen bites out of everything she could find.

She licked her face and paws clean, and she leaned back with a happy sigh. Just when she thought she was finished, she caught a glimpse of something else. The big silver dome. Her eyes lit up with glee, and her belly groaned with warning. Her legs kicked as she squirmed to roll upright, and hiccupped as she waddled up to the dome. When she got close, she could see a big fat ball with a rat’s head reflected on its surface. She rubbed her oversized gut and giggled before lifting the dome from the bottom. A sudden whiff of something sweet and chocolatey filled her nose, and her pupils dilated. With a newfound, almost frenzied energy, she pulled up much faster.

A quarter of a chocolate pudding cake sat on the plate before her, glistening invitingly. She let out a dep, shuddering breath at the sight and smell. There was no way she was leaving without a taste of that. She opened wide and took a huge bite, her tail flicking with pure bliss.

“There’s fudge in it!” she squeaked, swallowing and cramming in another mouthful. “Oh, I’m in heaven…!”

The next time Pixie stopped to catch her breath, she felt a warm flush in her chubby cheeks when she noticed most of the cake was gone now. After everything she’d eaten, she had enough room for that much?

She doubled over as her stomach groaned and gurgled, and even in the dim light, she could make out a harsh tint of red. Universal stomach language for “I absolutely will burst if you so much as taste one more thing.”

This time, Pixie took the hint, and cradled her overfilled abdomen back toward the drawers. Grunting and burping, she awkwardly climbed back down to the floor and slowly lumbered back toward the door.

Her ears pricked up as she heard a grunt from the living room, followed by heavy footfalls. A pair of giant legs stomped toward her, and her fur stood on end while she moved away from the door as fast as possible.

The kitchen lit right up as Greg plodded in, rubbing his face. Pixie took the chance to sneak past him.

UURRRP!!

Pixie’s ears lowered as she covered her mouth. Her blood ran cold as the human slowly looked around. With a yawn, he went back to what he was doing. Rooting through the leftovers himself, by the look of him. He was clearly too groggy to think straight, and Pixie wasn’t one to complain.

Not squandering this chance, she lumbered back to the living room and grunted as she got on all fours to squirm under the couch. Rats could fit through anything they could get their heads through, but a belly stuffed to volatile levels definitely made it a challenge. She groad and huffed as she forced herself across the tight space toward the floorboard. Once she was there, she pushed open a small compartment, squeezing through the circular space into her den. It was a decently sized little space between the walls, even for a rat her size, filled with little things she picked up around the house to use as her own furniture. Eager for a good sleep, she flopped down onto the large pack of handkerchiefs she used as a bed.

“I hope I don’t regret this,” she mumbled, yawning and rubbing her belly, taut as a baseball. “Or pop before I can regret it.”

She smiled and smacked her lips as she drifted off to sleep.

Nah. Christmas is the time of no regrets.