It was a dark and stormy night. May 25, 2009Posted by ourfriendben in critters, pets, wit and wisdom.
Tags: blog humor, bugs, pets
And that was just the beginning. Silence Dogood here, with a tale of domestic terror that will make “Angels and Demons” look like an entry in “America’s Funniest Home Videos.”
It was 3:30 a.m., and our friend Ben and I were attempting to get some sleep despite the fast and furious action of the NASCAT races going on between the bedroom and the living room. (See my earlier post, “Cats in space, or what we do at 2 a.m.,” for more on NASCAT and the feline space program, FASA.)
Suddenly, a groggy Ben lurched to his feet, having apparently intuited that our new puppy Shiloh needed to go out. But it must have taken the sleep-addled OFB too long to get on his boots, open the deck door, and let little Shiloh out of her crate, because the next thing I heard was a groan followed by “Oh NOOOOO!!!”
Well, accidents will happen, I thought smugly as I headed to the bathroom myself. As it turns out, maybe I should have shown a bit more sympathy for OFB and a bit less for poor Shiloh, because no sooner had I returned to the bedroom, leaving a miserable Ben on his hands and knees in the kitchen with the paper towels, than I heard one of the most dreaded sounds known to pet-owning humankind: the unmistakable noise of a cat in the process of throwing up. (The only sound that can bring even more fear to the pet owner’s heart is the noise a dog makes before throwing up.) Soon enough, I too was on my knees with the paper towels.
But at last the ordeal was over and I crawled wearily into bed, leaving OFB to his fate. Turning the light off, I reached to rearrange the pillows when my hand brushed against something long and stringy. At first, I assumed it was yet another shred of Kleenex—I’d done the laundry earlier and, despite OFB’s protestations that he’d searched every pocket of his shirts and jeans for hidden Kleenex, he’d apparently managed to miss one, much to my disgust when I took the clothes out of the dryer—but then I realized that it didn’t feel like Kleenex. It felt like, well, like a thick, shiny ponytail tie. It felt like…. YAAAAAHHHH!!! It felt like a centipede!!!!
Please don’t ask me how I knew what a centipede feels like. I’m relatively certain I’ve never handled a centipede before. But sure enough, when I turned the light on, there it was: a centipede. “AAAAHHHHH!!!!” I screamed, attempting to alert Ben, still in the kitchen cleaning up after Shiloh, to this latest disaster. “There’s a centipede on our pillows!!!”
“Really?” came the response, delivered in a tone of mild scientific curiosity.
“Centipede bites are poisonous, Ben!!!” As if any bug on the bed wouldn’t be nightmare enough!
“You’re not going to kill it, are you, Silence?”
No, actually I was planning to drop it down the back of your tee-shirt. “Aren’t you going to get it out of here, Ben?”
“I can’t, I’m still cleaning up here. Why don’t you just bundle it up in a paper towel and toss it out the door? Don’t squeeze it or anything or you might hurt it.”
Too bad they don’t make dog crates for people. OFB would definitely have spent the rest of the night in one!