My recent discovery: FairyLand teeming with life of the non-fairy variety.
The squealing that began yesterday with my successful fishing venture has hardly ceased today. This morning my son pointed out the little dead snake lying pathetically on the carpet. With several squirms, squeals and dropping of said snake, I managed to toss it outside. Now mind you, this snake was all of 2 inches in length and perhaps 2 millimeters in breadth.
The squealing continued as Ethan and I put our noses to the test in order to pinpoint the source of the strange odor that has been crescendoing in our kitchen over the the past couple of days. As I cleaned and sniffed and sniffed and cleaned every part in and near the stove I suddenly got a whiff from the little crack between the countertop and stovetop. I yanked the stove away from the wall only to glimpse the back end of a dead mouse sticking unceremoniously out from under the rear of the range.
Much squealing ensued.
Followed by repeat phone calls to my husband's voice mail.
More squealing and the lighting of a strongly scented candle.
I was standing near a chair in the living room, once again calling my husband when I felt something flutter over my foot. I shuddered--silly me, I'm just a bit jumpy after the rodent incident. I looked down and saw another snake, this one very alive, sliding over my bare foot.
Much more squealing as I managed to corral the thing into the dustpan (it was all of about 4 inches long) and toss it outside.
I called my parents for comfort and was told that perhaps I should try and accustom myself to such things considering I live in FairyLand.
My husband made it home in time to remove the dead, stinky, maggot-ridden rodent from the kitchen, leaving me to squeal some more as I cleaned up the remains.
I'm glad I have cats.
2 comments:
Yikes! Sounds more like scareyland! I am more than willing to admit that things like dead rats, snakes, and the such totally creep me out. No pride here.
Eeeeek, decaying rodents are soehow easier for me to deal with than live snakes, maybe it's in my blood. We lived in Texas for a short while and my Father who is not normally a gun toter took the 22 rifle out and shot a wriggler who dared to come in our house. Of course it happened to be very early in the morning when my brother was getting up for seminary and the rest of us were asleep, maybe my strong reaction is connected to being awoken by gunshot? I was very brave at the petting zoo when the nice animal handlers let us touch the 8 foot Boa, I just don't like the unexpected ones.
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