So, this week, for the first time in a very long time, I encountered a small woodland critter in my house. I don't take kindly to this sort of thing. I kinda hate mice. Mr. Hed said: "Now Skeeter, he 'aint hurtin' nobody,"
But I wasn't buying it.
In fact, just now, one of my daughter's super balls rolled under the couch, and it gave me a start. Thought it was a tiny wolverine under there, waiting to reach out, grab my foot by the ankle, and chow down.
Well, OK, the vibration from the rolling across the hardwoods, did, indeed, make a growly sound.
I have one hell of an imagination. I am aware. I have come to terms, and I do my best not to get too outwardly dramatic around other humans these days. Because, if they were actually privy to what went in this head of mine, it would be akin to opening a door to a very scary world, in which a cheetah would leap over their heads, followed by snakes, and other vermin... then a burst of flame, destroying everything in its path.
Most of the time, I keep that under wraps.
But earlier this week, we saw a fucking mouse in our house! Where we live! And sleep! And eat! And... live!
I hate those motherfucking things so much! I have said it before and I will say it again: A clown, Buffalo Bill, and a mouse? Pretty fucking level threesome, as far as I'm concerned. I don't ever want to see that, either. Yeah, no.
Also, in the past week, I have noticed a story circulating around Facebook about a baby seal finding its way into someone's house. At first, I thought the photos were darling. And then I thought harder.
How would I react if this happened to me?
Mr Hed said: "If you can't even stand the sight of a mouse, you would probably shit your pants if you saw a fucking baby seal on your couch."
And you know what? He's right.
I don't mind baby seals at the zoo, but I really hate surprises. Especially surprises that involve wild animals of any kind in my sacred-space-of-living-area. Yeah, no. Really, that's fine. No.
This story also took me back to a simpler time in my life, shortly after I moved in with Mr. Hed. One night, I went to my parents' house for dinner. I walked up the driveway, and thought I was going into the house, until I realized that I had cornered a nutria on the porch, just in front of the entry.
Terrified, I was.
I let out quite a scream, which set the aquatic rodent hissing at me, in turn. My parents lived in a ranch house that had a big window in the front door. My mother came to the door, and gave me a look, as if to say: "What the fuck, girl?"
I pointed at the brown, hissing, orange-toothed, long-tailed beast. It really did look like an R.O.U.S., only I had no aid of fire, or long stick with which to stab it in the hip.
Then, she looked down. And she, too screamed. Loudly.
And then I ran. I ran all the way up the street to get away from that... thing.
About five minutes later, I walked back to the house, but it was still sitting on the porch, so I sat on the retaining wall outside of the house across the street from ours until it eventually sauntered off.
I have no idea what it was doing near their house. I had never seen one there. Not before, or since.
I will say that I'm not completely opposed to surprises. In fact, there are some surprises I quite enjoy. But freaky wildlife in my house, or just an unexpected place, is not a fun surprise. Remember that on my birthday, and take heed, k?
But just the same? Hello, coyote! What'cha doin' on the MAX?