I was writing about rodents:

Dream rats.

Gerbils on wheels and our gerbil who singed her tail and whiskers running into fire.

The dwarf cloud rat who has resurfaced in the Philippines, the lab rat who bit me.

I wrote about my fictional rat blogger who had a rodent who danced on a sensor pad, communicating live thru the internet.

There was a rat who showed me the way out of a small enclosure, the frozen rat in a box who defrosted back to life.

There were the live rats who showed up after the dream rat, and the three dead/dying rats who showed up this year, two in my shoes and one on my path.

I could have written about my friend, the Emporer of Rats, who once upon a time had the job of euthanizing all the has-been lab rats and acted very professional about it at school, and also gave away and secreted home as many as he could.

I thought, why am I writing this? Where am I going? I started to fall asleep, but no, I would post a blog entry first. Did I have a photo? Something I already wrote, but hadn't posted? A poem, a quote? Gosh, I'm losing my juice. I got up, walked to the living room. Dad was watching the LSU Tigers play softball.

It's a good-humored world. I was falling asleep in the chair when there she came on the screen, the catcher in purple, white and gold, her name printed on the back of her jersey, half-hidden under a blonde pony-tail.

MOUSE.