I’ve had a lot of living things in the various houses that I’ve inhabited over the years.

As a child, my hamster, the one I should have named Houdini instead of Fred because no cage could hold him, scurried across my face in the middle of one very disturbing night. Another time, my mom discovered a suicidal mouse in our kitchen sink. I’m not sure if the mouse scared me more or if my mom’s screaming did, but I still have the mental scars from that fateful wake–up call.

One afternoon, some flying squirrels decided to test their wings across in the inside of our A–frame house. I think that may be the one and only time I ever saw my dad use a broom.

Since then, I lived with five dogs, several hermit crabs, a guinea pig, and a roommate who liked to blast Huey Lewis and the News through his Walkman.

We’ve had visits from cats, moles, lizards, snakes, and relatives who must have held their breath a little too long at the bottom of the gene pool. I’m not complaining. Life’s little visits keep things interesting. I’m sure my family and I have left lasting impressions on plenty of the visits we’ve made to other homes.

They say a man’s home is his castle. In my experience, it’s been more like a zoo, except that no one’s paying admission … other than me.

Well, my zoo added perhaps its most unique visitor this Christmas season. This latest addition makes my old hamster seem like a homebody and the flying squirrels tame. He’s an elf named Twinkle Toes on loan from the North Pole. My youngest daughter wrote to Santa a few days ago and requested him. I wasn’t aware such things were possible, but apparently Santa can spare an elf these days. I understand why he was so quick to dispense this particular elf because he’s been nothing but trouble since he arrived.

Twinkle Toes looks like an innocent toy during the day, but at night he’s about as trustworthy as Tiger Woods and as sneaky as Governor Sanford. No, he’s not out gallivanting with a flock of female elves in high–heeled jingle boots, and when you squeeze his hand he sings Christmas songs and doesn’t say he’s headed to the Appalachian Trail to do a little hiking, but Twinkle Toes is trouble none–the–less.

The first night he spent with us, he got into a box of doughnuts and our Christmas cards from family and friends. We found him on the kitchen table wearing a Krispy Kreme hat and grinning behind a pile of cards and a layer of glaze.

The next morning he was trying to open one of my youngest daughter’s presents. If it hadn’t been for the nutcrackers and the garland they constrained him with, I’m not sure what would have happened to Christmas.

This last morning he apparently made up with some of the nutcrackers and had them playing a little soccer. He was wearing my youngest daughter’s cleats and two of her championship medals trying to score a goal on a nutcracker and a wooden Rudolph.

According to my youngest daughter, Twinkle Toes will peacefully return to the North Pole on Christmas Eve so I guess I won’t have to ask Santa for a broom.