I squirted my nightly dropper of CBD oil into one side of my mouth and held it there for the two minutes it took to scoop out a shocking quantity of pee clumps. The second box was empty, as usual. Dumb cats.
I swallowed the oil and scrubbed my hands thoroughly through two mental choruses of “Happy Birthday.” Allyson and I had already read the Bible and prayed, so in one more minute I could stretch out on my memory foam mattress, topped with a cool-gel memory foam topper. Ahhh, I sighed as I dried my hands.
On my way out of the kitchen, some motion in my peripheral vision stopped me in my tracks. It was CiCi, cavorting under the table. I smiled. As much fun as she was having, you would’ve thought we’d given her some catnip. What was she playing with?
Since I wasn’t wearing my glasses, I had to lean in close to find out. Ugh! Here was her plaything.
It was obvious that Allyson's big, bad little kitty had not been the killer. Over and over, she tossed that garden snake an inch or two in the air and then leapt back with a shudder that seemed half terror and half delight, the way people who enjoy horror movies must feel when they peek at a monster through their fingers.
Thank goodness for the real protector in our house, our Russian Blue hunter. Although you might expect that I’d be horrified to see a snake in the house, my reaction was actually relief. I don’t worry too much about snakes, water bugs, or geckos; except for the water bug I found in my shower a couple of months ago, every one of these creepy-crawly creatures has been swiftly executed by Arwen. Well, not swiftly. I’ve noticed that Arwen likes to play with her prey. But eventually, whatever the creature may be, I know it will be in pieces.
“Look at this snake that Arwen killed,” I called out to Allyson.
“Eww. Aren’t you going to pick it up?” she asked.
I heaved a sigh as I headed back toward the laundry room for the broom. Cleaning the litter box was supposed to have been my last animal-related duty for the night.
As I usually do when it comes to any such unpleasantness, I fervently wished that I had a husband to take care of that snake, but it was all up to me. Unfortunately, sufficient time had not elapsed in order for the CBD oil to exert its calming influence. “I can do all things through Christ,” I thought as I crouched next to the table leg and gently pushed CiCi out of the way.
That’s when I noticed that maybe there was a bit of life left in the poor snake. Once CiCi had let go of it, its tail started to twitch feebly.
My shudder was all dread and no delight. After a few deep breaths, I decided there was no way I could deal with disposing of an almost-dead snake, nor finishing the job Arwen had started, at bedtime. I stood up and leaned the broom against the pantry door.
“I’ll pick it up first thing in the morning,” I promised. “By then it will be dead for sure.”
The voice of reason in my head told me it might not be wise to leave a snake under the kitchen table. The last time Arwen killed a snake, a couple of years ago, I found it in the middle of the living room floor and very nearly stepped on it. I’d have to keep my eyes open (and my glasses on) in the morning.
You can probably guess what happened. In the morning, there was no sign of that snake. I searched the entire common area that the cats can access, to no avail. I even knelt in front of the couch and the chairs and shone my cell phone light into the darkness, but all I found was dust bunnies.
“I should not have procrastinated,” I lamented in a text to a friend. “I bet I will find it with my foot, when I’m not wearing shoes.”
To a Costa Rican friend, I texted, “Quizás mi nariz va a encontrarla en unos días.” (Maybe my nose is going to find it in a few days.)
But a few days came and went, and the snake never turned up. I had scarcely stopped fretting about the snake when my next animal encounter occurred. This one was much more traumatizing.
A Surprise Attack
I was walking in the park at dusk, as I usually do in the summer, and gazing at the exquisite purples, pinks, and golds painted across the sky. At the same time, I was pleasantly aware of the grass beneath my minimalist Five Finger shoes. I imagined that I could feel the earth’s electrical current connecting with my feet, ever so slowly improving my immune function.
Out of nowhere, a bug flew forcefully into my ear. I shrieked, jumped violently, and flicked a finger into my ear all at the same time. “Oh my gosh!” I said even though there was no one to hear me.
I took one step forward and then realized the bug was still with me, right next to my ear. “Get away!” I pleaded as I batted at it.
The ominous buzzing continued, but now the bug was on the other side of my head. I jumped up onto the sidewalk and ran a few steps, with the bug circling my head the whole way.
“Aiyee!” I shrieked, reversing direction and swatting at what I now realized was a bee. What a sight I must have been, hopping around and running on and off the sidewalk while waving one arm frantically.
At last I thought I’d broken free, but seconds later I heard a muffled buzzing. Where was it? “Go AWAY!” I shouted as I continued jogging back the way I’d come.
You know that sound when a fly gets trapped between the window and the blinds, and it frantically flies back and forth? Bzzz, thud. Bzzz, thud.
That’s the sound I was hearing, except the thud was a lot softer… because it was originating from the inside of my arm. That bee was trapped in my T-shirt sleeve! I don’t know which of us was more hysterical, but I do know which was armed.
I scooped the attacker out of my sleeve and slung it as far as I could, and then I sprinted in the other direction. Whew!
As I usually do when it comes to any such unpleasantness, I fervently wished that I had a husband to take care of that snake, but it was all up to me. Unfortunately, sufficient time had not elapsed in order for the CBD oil to exert its calming influence. “I can do all things through Christ,” I thought as I crouched next to the table leg and gently pushed CiCi out of the way.
That’s when I noticed that maybe there was a bit of life left in the poor snake. Once CiCi had let go of it, its tail started to twitch feebly.
My shudder was all dread and no delight. After a few deep breaths, I decided there was no way I could deal with disposing of an almost-dead snake, nor finishing the job Arwen had started, at bedtime. I stood up and leaned the broom against the pantry door.
“I’ll pick it up first thing in the morning,” I promised. “By then it will be dead for sure.”
The voice of reason in my head told me it might not be wise to leave a snake under the kitchen table. The last time Arwen killed a snake, a couple of years ago, I found it in the middle of the living room floor and very nearly stepped on it. I’d have to keep my eyes open (and my glasses on) in the morning.
You can probably guess what happened. In the morning, there was no sign of that snake. I searched the entire common area that the cats can access, to no avail. I even knelt in front of the couch and the chairs and shone my cell phone light into the darkness, but all I found was dust bunnies.
“I should not have procrastinated,” I lamented in a text to a friend. “I bet I will find it with my foot, when I’m not wearing shoes.”
To a Costa Rican friend, I texted, “Quizás mi nariz va a encontrarla en unos días.” (Maybe my nose is going to find it in a few days.)
But a few days came and went, and the snake never turned up. I had scarcely stopped fretting about the snake when my next animal encounter occurred. This one was much more traumatizing.
A Surprise Attack
I was walking in the park at dusk, as I usually do in the summer, and gazing at the exquisite purples, pinks, and golds painted across the sky. At the same time, I was pleasantly aware of the grass beneath my minimalist Five Finger shoes. I imagined that I could feel the earth’s electrical current connecting with my feet, ever so slowly improving my immune function.
Out of nowhere, a bug flew forcefully into my ear. I shrieked, jumped violently, and flicked a finger into my ear all at the same time. “Oh my gosh!” I said even though there was no one to hear me.
I took one step forward and then realized the bug was still with me, right next to my ear. “Get away!” I pleaded as I batted at it.
The ominous buzzing continued, but now the bug was on the other side of my head. I jumped up onto the sidewalk and ran a few steps, with the bug circling my head the whole way.
“Aiyee!” I shrieked, reversing direction and swatting at what I now realized was a bee. What a sight I must have been, hopping around and running on and off the sidewalk while waving one arm frantically.
At last I thought I’d broken free, but seconds later I heard a muffled buzzing. Where was it? “Go AWAY!” I shouted as I continued jogging back the way I’d come.
You know that sound when a fly gets trapped between the window and the blinds, and it frantically flies back and forth? Bzzz, thud. Bzzz, thud.
That’s the sound I was hearing, except the thud was a lot softer… because it was originating from the inside of my arm. That bee was trapped in my T-shirt sleeve! I don’t know which of us was more hysterical, but I do know which was armed.
I scooped the attacker out of my sleeve and slung it as far as I could, and then I sprinted in the other direction. Whew!
I’d put perhaps six feet between us when I realized that I’d been stung. In the armpit! “Owwwww!” I howled as tears squeezed from the corners of my eyes.
I clutched my armpit tenderly, cupping my hand against the throbbing, but that seemed to make it worse.
I clutched my armpit tenderly, cupping my hand against the throbbing, but that seemed to make it worse.
A worrisome thought cut through my shock and self pity: what if I was allergic to bee stings? The only other time I’d been stung was when I was four, and I couldn’t remember how badly I’d swelled.
I pushed through the pain and started power walking for home; I was pretty sure I had some liquid Benadryl there.
I can only imagine the twisted grimace that surely distorted my face as I passed two smiling families on the path. If they noticed me clutching my armpit and struggling to hold back tears, they didn’t reveal any concern.
I pressed on, periodically probing the inside of my lips with my tongue to check for swelling. Somewhere along the way, I found the stinger, a tiny black disk with an even tinier hook extending from it. How could such a tiny weapon inflict so much pain? I consoled myself with the knowledge that my attacker must be dead or dying without its stinger.
Ten minutes later I was home, but I couldn’t curl up on the couch with an ice pack because the last light was waning, and I needed to put the bike carrier on my trunk and wrestle my mountain bike onto it before the garage was shrouded in darkness. The last working light bulb in the garage-door opener had burned out a few days before. I knew that I’d be in a hurry in the morning to get my car to the shop for an inspection and oil change and then ride back home before work, so I couldn’t leave this task for tomorrow.
After 15 minutes of sweating, cutting up my knuckles, and biting my lip against the pain in my armpit, I got that bike onto the carrier and tied down the straps.
My lips were still their normal size, and the throbbing was fading to a dull ache. All I could see was a red dot on the inside of my arm, surrounded by three smaller red dots. There was no swelling.
I decided to feed the cats and go straight to bed. At first I struggled to find a comfortable position, but the next thing I knew, it was morning. I still had red dots under my arm, but there was very little pain. Clearly, I am not allergic.
Mystery Solved
A few days later, on Saturday, I finally got around to mopping virtually the entire house. Someone in the household had put an extremely sticky liquid in the kitchen trash, and I’d inadvertently trailed it across the wood floor and through the garage. I wiped it up as best I could as soon as I discovered it, but we ended up tracking the sticky residue all through the house, so it was necessary to wash all the floors at once.
I decided to do it right, moving the living room furniture and rolling up the area rug. Guess what I found under there?
Yep, a partly liquified and subsequently petrified snake, nearly four weeks dead.
I texted my friends immediately:
“I don’t want to pick it up! But I have to. I need a husband for these things. :(”
“No quiero sacarla!!” (I don’t want to take it out!!”)
After I’d fired off my texts, I sat and stared at that snake for a minute’s worth of deep breaths. Then I put on my big girl panties, nudged it into the dustpan with the broom, and marched it to the trash can. You know what? It was really no big deal. Even the liquid residue mopped up quite easily.
I did wonder how the snake came to be ensconced three inches from the edge of the rug. Surely neither cat had the dexterity to carry the snake to the living room, lift the edge of the rug, deposit its treasure, and lay the rug back in place.
The only logical explanation is that the poor snake had been clinging to life and somehow managed to escape Arwen’s notice while slithering all the way to its death burrow. Well, at least it died with dignity.
Because It’s My Job
My next animal adventure ripped me from sleep a mere 12 hours later. I was up well past eleven that evening because we’d visited my parents and watched a movie with them.
Just when I’d settled into a light sleep, a tap on the door woke me. “Mama, there’s a giant spider in my bathroom, and I want to take a shower. You have to come kill it,” Allyson whined.
Without opening my eyes, I replied in a most unsympathetic and uncharitable tone, “I am not getting out of bed to kill a spider. Just shut the door and leave it until morning.”
“But… I need a shower. And it’s so big!”
“You’ll be fine,” I said, rolling over so that my back faced her.
After she’d shut the door, mama guilt set in as I recalled the real distress in her voice. Poor thing! Maybe I should get out of bed… No, because then I’d really be awake, and it was now… 12:35. I needed my sleep.
Ever since my acute Hashimoto’s thyroiditis flare this past fall, during which I suffered near-total insomnia with all of its effects for about ten weeks, I’ve fiercely guarded my sleep.
Between the aforementioned guilt, my frustration with having been awakened, and the self-fulfilling fear of insomnia, it took me nearly an hour to fall back asleep.
In the meantime, Allyson turned to her big brother, who lives just down the street, for help. His reaction, though quite different from mine, was equally unsympathetic. Here is a transcript of their text conversation:
Clarissa’s suggestion was to trap the spider under a cup. In my opinion, that would have taken more courage than Ethan’s suggestion to smash it and run away, but somehow Allyson decided to give it a try.
She gingerly slid a large box of eyeshadow behind the shower curtain and placed a glass on the other side. She’s not clear on the sequence of events, but ultimately she missed the spider, and it moved to another spot on the curtain.
Next, Allyson tried a suggestion for Clarissa’s mom, who’d been giving wise advice in the background. “Suck it up with the vacuum cleaner,” she said.
Allyson braved the dark garage with its unseen critters to retrieve the upright Hoover vacuum, but all she could do once she reached the bathroom was to plug it in and turn it on. I guess she was afraid of what might happen if she missed.
In the end, she went back to plan A.
After I’d fired off my texts, I sat and stared at that snake for a minute’s worth of deep breaths. Then I put on my big girl panties, nudged it into the dustpan with the broom, and marched it to the trash can. You know what? It was really no big deal. Even the liquid residue mopped up quite easily.
I did wonder how the snake came to be ensconced three inches from the edge of the rug. Surely neither cat had the dexterity to carry the snake to the living room, lift the edge of the rug, deposit its treasure, and lay the rug back in place.
The only logical explanation is that the poor snake had been clinging to life and somehow managed to escape Arwen’s notice while slithering all the way to its death burrow. Well, at least it died with dignity.
Because It’s My Job
My next animal adventure ripped me from sleep a mere 12 hours later. I was up well past eleven that evening because we’d visited my parents and watched a movie with them.
Just when I’d settled into a light sleep, a tap on the door woke me. “Mama, there’s a giant spider in my bathroom, and I want to take a shower. You have to come kill it,” Allyson whined.
Without opening my eyes, I replied in a most unsympathetic and uncharitable tone, “I am not getting out of bed to kill a spider. Just shut the door and leave it until morning.”
“But… I need a shower. And it’s so big!”
“You’ll be fine,” I said, rolling over so that my back faced her.
After she’d shut the door, mama guilt set in as I recalled the real distress in her voice. Poor thing! Maybe I should get out of bed… No, because then I’d really be awake, and it was now… 12:35. I needed my sleep.
Ever since my acute Hashimoto’s thyroiditis flare this past fall, during which I suffered near-total insomnia with all of its effects for about ten weeks, I’ve fiercely guarded my sleep.
Between the aforementioned guilt, my frustration with having been awakened, and the self-fulfilling fear of insomnia, it took me nearly an hour to fall back asleep.
In the meantime, Allyson turned to her big brother, who lives just down the street, for help. His reaction, though quite different from mine, was equally unsympathetic. Here is a transcript of their text conversation:
Allyson: Are you coming to get your laundry? There’s a MASSIVE spider in the bathroom
Ethan: I didn’t do any laundry. Sorry. Haha. Use a shoe
Allyson:
Ethan: That’s just a wolf spider. It’s harmless
Allyson: but it’s so big [scared emoji]
Ethan: Just give it a smack then run away
Allyson: [three scared emojis] THERES BABYS ON ITS BACK AHDHDJSGDHJSKDJ THEYRE CLIMBING OFFDuring this exchange, Allyson was simultaneously talking on the phone with her friend Clarissa.
Ethan: [shoe prints emoji] Smash em all haha
Ethan: I’ve had that happen before
Allyson: come kill it i can’t do this [seven sad emojis]
Ethan: [HaHa emoji]
Clarissa’s suggestion was to trap the spider under a cup. In my opinion, that would have taken more courage than Ethan’s suggestion to smash it and run away, but somehow Allyson decided to give it a try.
She gingerly slid a large box of eyeshadow behind the shower curtain and placed a glass on the other side. She’s not clear on the sequence of events, but ultimately she missed the spider, and it moved to another spot on the curtain.
Next, Allyson tried a suggestion for Clarissa’s mom, who’d been giving wise advice in the background. “Suck it up with the vacuum cleaner,” she said.
Allyson braved the dark garage with its unseen critters to retrieve the upright Hoover vacuum, but all she could do once she reached the bathroom was to plug it in and turn it on. I guess she was afraid of what might happen if she missed.
In the end, she went back to plan A.
Just when I’d dropped back into a fitful sleep, my door burst open again. “Mom, you have to kill the spider,” Allyson said. “I’ve been-”
“Why do you keep waking me up?” I wailed. “I just now fell back asleep and I’ll be wrecked tomorrow if I don’t-”
“Please!” Allyson interrupted. “You have to kill it I tried but I can’t and I’ve been sitting on the toilet just staring at it for like an hour.”
“Allyson! Just shut the door and go to bed. If it gets out of the bathroom Arwen will get it.”
“But there are babieees! I can’t leave it because the babies might come out and go all over my room. Please, Mama! I’m s-so scared!”
When I heard the tears in her voice, I heaved a sigh and threw my legs over the side of the bed. Even though it was now past two, yes, this was going down right now.
I stumbled across the living room behind her. “I don’t know what makes you think I like spiders any more than you do,” I said. “Why do I have to kill it?”
“It’s just your job,” she replied with a shrug. “You always have to do stuff like this.”
“Seriously, you’re a lot braver than I am. You’re not afraid of anything. Why don’t you kill it?”
“Why do you keep waking me up?” I wailed. “I just now fell back asleep and I’ll be wrecked tomorrow if I don’t-”
“Please!” Allyson interrupted. “You have to kill it I tried but I can’t and I’ve been sitting on the toilet just staring at it for like an hour.”
“Allyson! Just shut the door and go to bed. If it gets out of the bathroom Arwen will get it.”
“But there are babieees! I can’t leave it because the babies might come out and go all over my room. Please, Mama! I’m s-so scared!”
When I heard the tears in her voice, I heaved a sigh and threw my legs over the side of the bed. Even though it was now past two, yes, this was going down right now.
I stumbled across the living room behind her. “I don’t know what makes you think I like spiders any more than you do,” I said. “Why do I have to kill it?”
“It’s just your job,” she replied with a shrug. “You always have to do stuff like this.”
“Seriously, you’re a lot braver than I am. You’re not afraid of anything. Why don’t you kill it?”
“Because I’m scared to death of spiders,” she said with a sniff.
“Like you’re afraid of tornadoes?”
“Y-yeah.” And then she burst into tears.
I snickered at first because I honestly thought she was faking. But she wasn’t.
I laid a hand on her shaking shoulder. “Okay, I’ll kill it. I never knew you had a phobia of spiders.”
“Neither did I,” she said.
I nearly tripped over the vacuum cleaner in the small bathroom.
“I was going to vacuum it up, but I was too scared,” she explained.
“Where is it?”
“There,” she pointed at the shower curtain, and I peered intently through the thick sheen of castor oil drops that I’d applied about an hour and a half earlier, for my dry eyes.
“Where? I don’t see anything.”
She took a step closer to the tub. “There, on the edge. It’s hard to see because it’s on the black part.”
I stood so close that our shoulders bumped. “Oh, there it is. Wow, that is a big one.”
She squeezed past me for the door. “I'll be in my room.”
As I wielded the vacuum hose with a trembling arm, I understood Allyson's irrational fear. I drew a couple of deep breaths and reached behind me with my other arm to flip the switch. Slowly, slowly, I moved the wand closer to the unsuspecting giant.
Suddenly, the spider flew through the air and vanished before my eyes. I turned off the vacuum and scanned the floor next to the toilet, where its trajectory could have taken it. There was no sign of mother or babies. I cautiously lifted the damp towels and empty toilet paper rolls that littered the floor. No spiders.
In the light of day, it's obvious that a suction strong enough to rip a spider off a shower curtain from several inches away would certainly suck it right up the hose, but my brain was addled from exhaustion and adrenaline. That explains my foolish answer when Allyson called from her room, “Did you get it?”
“I... think so.”
“What do you mean? Did you kill it?”
“The vacuum pulled it off the curtain, but I didn't actually see it go in the tube,” I admitted.
“Will you put a towel under the door?” she sniffled.
I sighed heavily and then dug a beach towel out of the linen closet. I rolled it and stuffed it tightly, sealing the threshold as thoroughly as I could. Then I laid a hand on my big girl's should and prayed with her for the second time that night.
“No way I'm taking a shower in there,” she informed me as I was heading back toward my comfy bed. “There could be babies all over in there.”
“For how long? You know I don't like it when you use my shower.”
“Like you’re afraid of tornadoes?”
“Y-yeah.” And then she burst into tears.
I snickered at first because I honestly thought she was faking. But she wasn’t.
I laid a hand on her shaking shoulder. “Okay, I’ll kill it. I never knew you had a phobia of spiders.”
“Neither did I,” she said.
I nearly tripped over the vacuum cleaner in the small bathroom.
“I was going to vacuum it up, but I was too scared,” she explained.
“Where is it?”
“There,” she pointed at the shower curtain, and I peered intently through the thick sheen of castor oil drops that I’d applied about an hour and a half earlier, for my dry eyes.
“Where? I don’t see anything.”
She took a step closer to the tub. “There, on the edge. It’s hard to see because it’s on the black part.”
I stood so close that our shoulders bumped. “Oh, there it is. Wow, that is a big one.”
She squeezed past me for the door. “I'll be in my room.”
As I wielded the vacuum hose with a trembling arm, I understood Allyson's irrational fear. I drew a couple of deep breaths and reached behind me with my other arm to flip the switch. Slowly, slowly, I moved the wand closer to the unsuspecting giant.
Suddenly, the spider flew through the air and vanished before my eyes. I turned off the vacuum and scanned the floor next to the toilet, where its trajectory could have taken it. There was no sign of mother or babies. I cautiously lifted the damp towels and empty toilet paper rolls that littered the floor. No spiders.
In the light of day, it's obvious that a suction strong enough to rip a spider off a shower curtain from several inches away would certainly suck it right up the hose, but my brain was addled from exhaustion and adrenaline. That explains my foolish answer when Allyson called from her room, “Did you get it?”
“I... think so.”
“What do you mean? Did you kill it?”
“The vacuum pulled it off the curtain, but I didn't actually see it go in the tube,” I admitted.
“Will you put a towel under the door?” she sniffled.
I sighed heavily and then dug a beach towel out of the linen closet. I rolled it and stuffed it tightly, sealing the threshold as thoroughly as I could. Then I laid a hand on my big girl's should and prayed with her for the second time that night.
“No way I'm taking a shower in there,” she informed me as I was heading back toward my comfy bed. “There could be babies all over in there.”
“For how long? You know I don't like it when you use my shower.”
“I don't know. A while.”
How long? Over two weeks, it turns out.
Hopefully, that was the end of our animal adventures for good while.
How long? Over two weeks, it turns out.
Hopefully, that was the end of our animal adventures for good while.
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| My big girl in a less stressful moment - eating the cake she made for my 50th birthday |
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