The Perfect Evening

Could the frogs be any louder?

It's a beautiful night. I'm sitting on the front steps of my house, Romeo beside me, purring. He's a good old kitty. Even at thirteen and a half, there still aren't any grays or whites marring his perfect black tuxedo. He lives well. Slappy White is probably about a year younger, and he's got grays all over him, the nasty old reprobate.

It's an hour or so past sunset and almost full dark, but there's still a kiss of pink at the western edge of the sky. The frogs are going crazy. This is what you get for living maybe 200 yards from a creek. The temperature is perfect.

Work was strangely, maybe even eerily quiet today. Word was that yesterday afternoon, the panicmonger boss suggested cancelling a coworker's previously approved vacation due to the workload. We have this panic-level project going on, you see (as usual). Never mind that he's had the vacation approved for a couple of months, and made long-range travel plans around it, and it's supposed to start on Monday. These are treacherous times!

But that threat seems to have evaporated today, along with the usual aura of desperation that usually surrounds the boss in a 15-foot envelope. The panic-level project goes on. Robbie has given notice. The departure of at least a couple of the three new people is probably imminent. Yet she was cheerful, even smiling and joking. Has she gotten a good-news call, or merely accepted the inevitable? She's driven away a couple of my dearest friends, and not actually been a barrel of laughs for me; but I still can't help feeling really bad for her. She's had a rough time of it. I hope she finds somewhere that she, and everyone around her, can be happy. Management has not been a good fit for her. It wouldn't be for me, for that matter.

The rest of us took a couple of good, solid three-martini breaks, and didn't skimp on lunch either. It's Friday, and Robbie is leaving soon. The panic project is one that won't do us a whole lot more good if worked on in a frenzy than it would if completely ignored. So things are quiet.

Except for the frogs, those noisy bastards.