Unlike most women and not a few men, I am not afraid of spiders and mice. Maybe it's because, as a single parent, I couldn't yell for anyone to come get the spider that was in the bathtub, I had to do it myself. So I made peace with bugs and those cute widdle field micey wicey.
Usually when a spider is spotted in
the bathtub, it can't negotiate the slippery sides and turning on the
water will just wash it away. But that seems unnecessarily cruel
to me, so I learned to take a long piece of teepee and let the little
arachnid climb on for a free ride out the back door.
I open the window for flies, too.
And there was a huge thing with a million long, segmented legs and
furry antennae that I called the Stud. If he was out and about, I
just said Howdy Do and walked in the other direction.
When the cats were around, they
constantly brought me field mice through the cat window. They would
come in, making a distinctive sound I began to recognize as "Yo, I
caught dinner." To their credit, the mouse was already dead and they
would just eat it all up, so there was never anything for me to clean.
Well, except that one time when one of them got a baby rabbit. And left one foot. Yuck.
Another time one of the cats
brought in a live creature and dropped it on my chest. While I was
sleeping. Not being dead and not wanting to stick around, it
scurried down the length of my abdomen, exiting on the right leg
express in a final attempt to run for safety. My reaction? Oh, great, a
live mouse. Now I have to get up and save it. I didn't even
flinch. I just knew I had to find it or it would be cat food.
The poor thing managed to find
refuge on a bookshelf, but when I reached out to get the terrified
animal, it defied all laws of gravityand leaped over my shoulder,
landed on my back and ran down my leg again. Somehow I managed to catch
it and put it outside in a bag with some paper so it could have a
hiding place and catch its breath after its near death experience.
Despite my courage around mice and
bugs, I realized last night that there is something that really does
scare me. Lightning. It began years ago when I was a softball
pitcher standing on the mound. Ominous clouds would be forming
and lightning would start. Looking around I realized I was the
tallest person on the field, we were using aluminum bats, and our caps
had a metal button on top. I used to call the game before the
umpire had a chance and race for my car.
Now that my playing days are over,
lightning still comes calling. For some reason I seem to live in a
lightning flight path. I can't tell you the number of times the
transformer at the back of my yard has been hit. Along with the tree
that hangs over my driveway. You know it's close when you hear it crack
at the same time the thunder hits. The noise shakes the house.
It's only about five feet from my
back door to my car door, but I've had more than one of those
pre-lightning buzzes with the car door open as I was lifting up my foot
to get in. It feels like a little shock from a wall plug. But I
know I better move fast or they'll be serving marmalade with my toast.
Last night when I got home I was
too chicken to get out of the car. I like to think of it as being
respectful of Mother Nature, that bi-yotch. The lightning was flashing
all around and I saw a really bright cloud to ground bolt in the
reflection of one of the bedroom windows. The eye of the storm was
getting closer. Luckily I had a full tank of gas so I could keep warm,
my cell phone had its charger, and I had just bought a bag of
FOOD. So I listened to the radio drank some Snapple and waited
for the electrical assault to move on. About forty five minutes later I
was able to make a break for cover.
That five foot dash was hell.