I suppose I should have given it a better name after being my faithful companion for seven years. It spent at least eight hours a day, four days a week (and four hours every Friday) with me and the best I can come up with is "Mouse" - and that only thought of a few minutes ago.
It followed me when I moved first into a new office building a few hundred metres away and then into two different offices during that time. First it helped me write media releases. Then it helped me write news articles and television scripts. The last thing it did was help me edit articles and write my own.
But today, Mouse gave up the ghost.
Mouse now sits at the bottom of its paper-filled grave called my bin, because it finally realised it deserved a much-needed rest. Maybe it was because I didn't give it a break over the Christmas holidays.
It bears the scars of its long service. The silver varnish on the left mouse button has been rubbed down, revealing its white plastic after all the caressing done by my index finger. The right mouse button fared better, only turning a slightly light grey-green colour, but only because it's not a very well-used button. And where my palm rests . . . let's just say it's kind of gleaming.
No longer does the left mouse button work, unless under much duress. But when using it gives my index finger an incredible sore, I thought it time to move on with my life and acquire a new one.
Bye bye Mouse. You have been a good and faithful servant.
And in case you're wondering what Mouse is resting on, I found this weird picture of a coffin couch here.