Today I flitted round a lot
(With fixing things, not like a bat!)
And now and then, when tired I got
Or found that I had lost the plot,
I stopped and had a chat.
Or played the piano for a while,
Especially to my cat:
Beethoven can that cat beguile,
M sits there with a kitty smile …
Then at computer sat.
And as I blogged so merrily
(The words all came out pat)
I felt some things crawl over me,
Next, itching started furiously,
Then, biting they were at!
The keyboard was jam-packed with ants
That wanted me to scat!
Crawled up my arms and down to pants,
Ignoring all my raves and rants,
(You know, like, ‘Oh my hat!’)
Screwed keyboard open very wide,
Squashed lots of ants quite flat!
And ant-icide inside applied,
Plus desk on which it rests, beside;
I hope now, that is that!
Footnote: We had to buy some ant poison after the bed invasions a while back, even though insecticide goes against our principles. I also had to discourage ants from putting up family portraits in wall plugs, multiplugs, transformers and other electrical equipment. Maybe the little brutes have been plotting revenge, though, and decided that cutting off blogging would get me where it hurts. Oh, my sainted ant!
The keyboard was most seriously in need of cleaning, anyway — but why is it necessary to secure the bases of them with no less than eighteen difficult-to-get-at screws?