It poured all day, and I enjoy rainy days, but this one also turned out to be a "day." I was planning to catch up on some reading (I'm still on the March New Yorkers, for crying out loud) and spend just a couple of hours online in the morning. For a change. But now it's nearly midnight and I'm still online. I did take a couple of hours to go to the South End to pick up some cat food since there was a mixup with our monthly delivery today, too. But aside from that break, it was all bureaucracy, problem-solving, logistics, and blah, blah, blah.
Oh — and a bug. This was a big deal. I was alone, and I do not behave well around spiders and millipedes. There was a mid-sized, hairy-looking millipede running around on my bath towel, as I discovered just before I stepped into the shower. So I screamed at it for a while. It ran into a fold and disappeared. Screaming upsets them; I know this but I can't help myself. I knew I had to something. So, without taking a step, I reached into our sink cabinet for the can of (safe-for-pets mint oil) bug spray. I sprayed until the towel was wet and minty, but no dying bug dropped out of it. So I talked myself into picking up the towel from the top, and quickly throwing it into the shower, hoping to drown the bug. But as I did this, the bug fell to the floor. The floor I was standing on, barefoot. On the little oriental rug, where it was very hard to see. More screaming. I grabbed a hand towel and threw it over the bug and screamed a little more until I was sure the bug was really under the towel. Then I stomped around, flattening the towel for a very long time.
The bug was dead. I coldly examined the corpse before washing it down the drain. I had a splitting headache from stress and screaming, and two heavily mint-scented towels, one stained with bug guts and the other covered with millions of tiny bug footprints. I had to wash them four times to get the smell out.
I think it might nevertheless be time for some new towels....
This is the second millipede we've killed in about a week. My husband was at home to kill the previous one, which I swear was about four inches long. I can't live here anymore. Have to get out. And forget about the cats helping out. I seem to have raised five furry Quaker pacificists. Toffee found the first bug; he has a scientific interest in insects, as he does with all unusual phenomena, but he never thinks of them as a protein source. As he does with, you know, Christmas lights, Christmas ornaments, strings and cords, and any other inanimate object he can swallow.
So I've had enough, and now I'm going to bed, to finally read a page or two of a March New Yorker. Or just to lie there wondering where and when the next bug will show up