thump thump thump spider? I spit on thee!
Apr. 8th, 2004 09:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabEarlier this week, or last week, maybe, in an effort to show her species' ancestral glee at the changing of the seasons and the arrival of spring, Edith brought home two grasshoppers, each approximately the size of an M-Class Mercedes. She ate one and left the other to spoil in the sun -- apparently refrigeration is a technology not yet developed by Babylonian Wise Men and Sab's fast cats -- but I bowl-and-paper'd 'em and returned them to the great wide wild.
Not to be outdone, Edith returned a couple days later, thrilled about the New Moving Something she was slapping around under a pile of scary mail on the floor near the TV. I caught a glipse of the thing as it slinked under the bookcase, and despite the fact that it was tailless (Edith, no doubt, having snacked on that part) -- and where its tail would have been, a delighful bloody stump with the spine sticking out just like how-do-you-do, -- the thing was immediately recognizeable as a GIANT ALLIGATOR. Or, more likely, a lizard of average size, but Edith doesn't do things by halves. Still, in retrospect, a GIANT ALLIGATOR wouldn't fit too well under my bookcase, so probably a tailless lizard, and this one PTP rescued and brought outside to the stone wall that lines our driveway, because both of us remembered from childhood fantasy novels that lizards seem to like to sun themselves on rocks.
That was when I blew out the second of my two overhead lightbulbs, leaving me with nothing but a 40 watt bedside lamp.
Lately I've flipped somewhat nocturnal, so when I woke up yesterday (for significantly vague values of "yesterday" where "yesterday" means any of the last four indiscriminate days) it was dark outside, and my room was appropriately shadowed.
I flipped on the bedside lamp, went to the kitchen to make coffee, arranged some pillows so I could sit on the bed with Lennier near the lamp and do my computery things. I talked to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
runpunkrun some. I drank my coffee. The sun set into the Pacific. A good hour or so into my day, I looked up from the computer to let my eyes wander around my shadowed room.
Over there, by the desk, a shape. On the chair.
A BIRD. A BIRD, sitting on the back of my desk chair, in the dark. A LIVE PIGEON. Just sitting there, doing nothing, coulda been there fore days. No open windows, no sign of forced entry. Just. A BIRD. IN MY ROOM. Watching me. Tipping its little bird head and bobbing its poky beak.
I went to get PTP. The bird flapped haphazardly around the room and we swiped at it equally haphazardly, not really sure what we'd do once we caught it. THen it divebombed behind the TV, and when we went to look for it, in the dark, with a flashlight, it was GONE.
We moved the furniture. We moved the shelves. NO BIRD.
"I must have dreamed it," I said.
"I saw it too!" PTP said.
"Ghost bird?" I suggested. Neither one of us had any argument.
Poked around some more with the flashlight. NO BIRD. Must've been a dream, we decided, not at all convinced. PTP went back to her room, and I went back to my computer.
A good hour later, Edith came in, prowling around her usual haunts looking for lizard-tails or grasshopper-legs or whatever else she's stashed around my room for a late-night snack. And then-- the unmistakeable flap of wings, and the BIRD again, flopping out of Edith's reach and lighting on to of the television without a care in the world.
I opened the window, and the bird graciously left, flying off to wherever it had come from.
No new creatures have come to visit in the last couple days, but I'm expecting a cow next, or a pterodactyl, or a bear.
In the meantile, I nabbed the following fromskywaterblue, and, since I never answer the phone anyway, it seemed right up my alley.
Phone Game!
If you want to play:
1. Give your cell phone number to your friends list.
2. Don't answer any calls that you don't recognize, allowing your friends to leave you messages.
3. If your friends-list is as awesome as mine, they will leave hilarious messages, jokes, songs and riddles in your voice mail, and some will make you guess who they are by giving hints.
The secret is to NOT ANSWER THE PHONE unless you recognize the number.
My number: 323-229-0558 in the US of A. And it's good to note that ANY TIME is a fine time to call, never too late or early over here for me, no matter what time zone you're in.
Riddles and clues encouraged.
Not to be outdone, Edith returned a couple days later, thrilled about the New Moving Something she was slapping around under a pile of scary mail on the floor near the TV. I caught a glipse of the thing as it slinked under the bookcase, and despite the fact that it was tailless (Edith, no doubt, having snacked on that part) -- and where its tail would have been, a delighful bloody stump with the spine sticking out just like how-do-you-do, -- the thing was immediately recognizeable as a GIANT ALLIGATOR. Or, more likely, a lizard of average size, but Edith doesn't do things by halves. Still, in retrospect, a GIANT ALLIGATOR wouldn't fit too well under my bookcase, so probably a tailless lizard, and this one PTP rescued and brought outside to the stone wall that lines our driveway, because both of us remembered from childhood fantasy novels that lizards seem to like to sun themselves on rocks.
That was when I blew out the second of my two overhead lightbulbs, leaving me with nothing but a 40 watt bedside lamp.
Lately I've flipped somewhat nocturnal, so when I woke up yesterday (for significantly vague values of "yesterday" where "yesterday" means any of the last four indiscriminate days) it was dark outside, and my room was appropriately shadowed.
I flipped on the bedside lamp, went to the kitchen to make coffee, arranged some pillows so I could sit on the bed with Lennier near the lamp and do my computery things. I talked to
runpunkrun some. I drank my coffee. The sun set into the Pacific. A good hour or so into my day, I looked up from the computer to let my eyes wander around my shadowed room.Over there, by the desk, a shape. On the chair.
A BIRD. A BIRD, sitting on the back of my desk chair, in the dark. A LIVE PIGEON. Just sitting there, doing nothing, coulda been there fore days. No open windows, no sign of forced entry. Just. A BIRD. IN MY ROOM. Watching me. Tipping its little bird head and bobbing its poky beak.
I went to get PTP. The bird flapped haphazardly around the room and we swiped at it equally haphazardly, not really sure what we'd do once we caught it. THen it divebombed behind the TV, and when we went to look for it, in the dark, with a flashlight, it was GONE.
We moved the furniture. We moved the shelves. NO BIRD.
"I must have dreamed it," I said.
"I saw it too!" PTP said.
"Ghost bird?" I suggested. Neither one of us had any argument.
Poked around some more with the flashlight. NO BIRD. Must've been a dream, we decided, not at all convinced. PTP went back to her room, and I went back to my computer.
A good hour later, Edith came in, prowling around her usual haunts looking for lizard-tails or grasshopper-legs or whatever else she's stashed around my room for a late-night snack. And then-- the unmistakeable flap of wings, and the BIRD again, flopping out of Edith's reach and lighting on to of the television without a care in the world.
I opened the window, and the bird graciously left, flying off to wherever it had come from.
No new creatures have come to visit in the last couple days, but I'm expecting a cow next, or a pterodactyl, or a bear.
In the meantile, I nabbed the following from
skywaterblue, and, since I never answer the phone anyway, it seemed right up my alley.Phone Game!
If you want to play:
1. Give your cell phone number to your friends list.
2. Don't answer any calls that you don't recognize, allowing your friends to leave you messages.
3. If your friends-list is as awesome as mine, they will leave hilarious messages, jokes, songs and riddles in your voice mail, and some will make you guess who they are by giving hints.
The secret is to NOT ANSWER THE PHONE unless you recognize the number.
My number: 323-229-0558 in the US of A. And it's good to note that ANY TIME is a fine time to call, never too late or early over here for me, no matter what time zone you're in.
Riddles and clues encouraged.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-04-08 10:30 pm (UTC)Who's next?
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 07:47 am (UTC)The good news is you'll never have mice or bugs. You've got good hunters who love you enough to bring you treats.
Janie's that way. Outside being terribly wicked.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 11:16 am (UTC)I was away for three days once, and she ate a bird underneath my bed. I know these, because I was cleaning a few days later, and there were FEATHERS EVERYWHERE. I freaked the frell out at first, then I chased Alice around with a broom.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-10 11:13 am (UTC)Those are just the outstanding incidents. Possums and raccoons regularly come up onto my porch to eat the cats' food, and then amuse themselves by stealing the dish.