B to the S Christmas experience

Once upon a Christmas eve, there was a quiet ticking.
And it ticked, and ticked, and ticked.
Sometimes, I thought for sure that the ticking would drive me mad.
But it didn't.
The ticking continued, and went on and on.
But this isn't a rhyming story-- because I can't bring myself to the extremely of festive cheer in the ways of rhyming.
The ticking came from a clock on the wall, where a cat-clock with a Cheshire grin grinned at the kitchen.
And an orange sat quietly on the counter, waiting for morning. Waiting till the children got sick from their candy, and the mother demanded that they consume the orange. Because that's the only purpose for an orange.
"How peculiar," thought the orange. "To only want to be eaten, that being our only purpose to existing."
And then morning came, and the orange was eaten.
And the cat continued to grin, and continued to tick.

Fin.

((Dear goodness, what on earth was that? It's amazing what simply typing does. Anything can come from it.
Even a story about ticking, and oranges.
Feel free to ignore this.))