Made myself a nice breakfast -- hardboiled egg and hard salami on pumpernickel toast -- and took it into the office, planning to set it down on the right-side typewriter shelf of my big oak desk.
Nope! Rannie the cat is already there, giving me an expectant look. You can almost see the cat wheels going around in her brain: "Put that sammich down right here, Mommy! It will be safe. Safe as can be. And yummy."
Sorry, Rannie. I put my plate on the left-side pull-out shelf instead. My desk looks like WWII-era or earlier government issue, a common-enough design that one of our neighbors across the alley threw out a near copy (in very bad shape) a few years ago, and wasn't that startling to come home to. I don't know who spec'ed the dual shelves but I am once again grateful they did.
And as for that sandwich? It is yummy. Her plans thwarted, Miss Rannie has held her station to my right, pleased to be petted a little from time to time with my non-sandwich-holding hand.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
1 year ago