“Wait, you’re going on strike?” The Author looked over the scribbled manifesto. “Can you do that?” There was an affirmative squeak from the head mouse. “So, your demands are for more candy, every other Thursday off and a wheel of mild cheddar every third Tuesday?” There was another squeak. “I’ll have to take it up with the union rep.” She turned. “Hey Dex, I need you over here a minute.”

And thus the great mouse strike of ’05 was averted.