The Best Laid Plans

With all that's been happening lately, my desk at work has gotten to the point of mountainous proportions.

When last we left our heroine (me), you may recall there was a slight problem with The King of the Realm (Hubster) suffering a Mighty Blow to the chest in battle conditions (heart attack whilst trying to transport three grandkids aged six and under).  Thankfully, The King is seated upon the throne (daily at 8:30 a.m.) (but that's too much information) again and is somewhat following his new diet, exercising, and taking his new meds without a fuss.

Or much of a fuss.

The night of said Mighty Blow I had determined to work late to pare down Mt. McDesktop from a range to a peak.  Needless to say, I was a little apprehensive about working late this week, wondering what the next catastrophe was to befall our little brood.

But I pressed on.

I called Hubster and told him to stay out of the potato chips and hotdogs and away from the salt shaker and McDonald's, because Momma was gonna be chained to the desk for the evening.  Then I turned up the tunes on the radio and went to town.

The papers, they flew.  The IN box went to OUT as mail was disbursed to the masses.  Supplies were ordered, bills were paid, payroll was caught up (much to the joy of my employees), and the top of my desk gradually emerged.  I was just taking a bite out of a celebratory peach around 7:45 p.m. when it happened.

A furry, gray, horrendous rodent ran out across my office floor, squeaked at me, and ran off.

I immediately tried to talk myself into the sound being that of a bird outside my window rather than a mouse inside my office, but sadly, it didn't work.  One reason was that it was quite obviously dark outside, and we all know birdies don't hop around in the dark.  Unless, of course, they're owls, and owls don't squeak.  And the inner city doesn't usually house owls.  Another reason is that someone else on my floor had seen a mouse the day before.  And knowing this building the way I do, I know that the hallway my office is in is like a drag strip for racing mice.  I've seen them before.

One mouse will stand at the end of the hallway on its hind legs holding a checkered flag.  Next to it will be two other mice, down on all fours, legs trembling with excitement, ready to go.  The flag drops, the racers take off!  They leap down the hall as I leap on top of my desk, and they must think I'm cheering them on instead of screaming in fear.

It's quite the sight.

But at least I got the paperwork into a manageable mess now, instead of a mountain range.  Hubster was none the worse for wear, and new traps are set out for my little friends.

So go the plans of mice and (wo)men.