Erotic Art - Nude Art - BDSM Art Drawings
 |
|
I'm sitting on the sofa one day, folding clothes still warm from the dryer, when out of the corner of my eye, I see something scurry across the floor off to my right, at the bottom of the stairs. At the same instant, my three cats, who had all been lounging around napping in their favorite afternoon sun spots, jerked themselves up out of a sound sleep and went on high alert. You know how they do that - They arch their backs and crouch, open their eyes as wide as they'll go and their pupils dilate until there isn't any more iris. They zone in on whatever it was that alerted them, and they wait, patiently, for further movement. All three of them had seen, or sensed, or HEARD? whatever this thing was that scurried across my floor. The dog, a big brave 75 pound golden retriever named Gordie, by this time had gotten up off his rug in the middle of the room, cowered against the wall as far away from the disturbance as he could get and was sitting there with that "What the heck was THAT?" look on his face. I'm thinking, "Oh hell. Another mouse," and having flashbacks of the sound of squealing as these prissy pampered indoor kitties play racquetball against the ceiling with the latest catch. They won't EAT the mouse, mind you, they're too well fed for that. They just PLAY with it to death. I finally summon up the courage to actually turn my head to see what creature has invited itself into my home. Sitting there at the bottom of the stairs like he owns the place is the biggest, hairiest, grossest, most disgustingly HUGE spider I've ever seen in all my life. Now I'm a country girl. I've lived out in the country for a long time and I'm fairly used to the assorted vermin that inevitably wander in. Everything out here, spiders included, comes in supersize, and I'm used to that. I can usually deal with it. I'm not afraid of snakes or mice or spiders, even the bigger ones. Normally when I find a spider in the house, I just get a paper cup and an index card, scoop him into the cup and take the beast back outside where he belongs. The only time I really freak out at spiders is when they're in the bathtub and then it doesn't matter what size they are, I won't go near them. If I can't just wash them down the drain, I'll bathe outside. But this THING sitting on the floor at the bottom of my stairs was the mother mutant of all arachnids. This creeping monster had to be 4-5 inches across. We do not have spiders that size here. And hairy! Gawd, I canNOT deal with spiders that have more hair than I do! It appeared as though the thing had come up through the floor register, which is one of those old fashioned jobs with the fancy fretwork and gaps large enough to fit a small child's arm (could be why they don't use them anymore?). Now this house is 120 years old and the basement is one of those proverbial old, creepy, dirt floor crypts. And so I'm sitting there looking at this spider wondering how many thousands of babies she had in my basement before she decided to come up and visit. Freaked myself right out. So what do I do? None of the cats has moved a muscle. Any OTHER spider and they'd have been playing air hockey with the thing by now - or eating it. But even they weren't planning to mess with this guy. Gordie was still sitting there against the wall with that dumb look on his face. I was not ABOUT to try to capture this thing in any paper cup, that's for sure. I didn't really even want to move or breathe, for fear of agitating the beast. So I very slowly reach over to the end table, pick up the cordless phone, and as I'm dialing my best friend's number, I very quietly climb up on the coffee table. And stay there. Teresa picks up and here's how the conversation goes: Me: "Teresa, get over here." Seven agonizing minutes later, I hear the rattle of her old beat up Cavalier pull in the driveway. She knocks on the back door, which I know is locked, so I holler at her, as quietly as I can so as not to disturb or frighten Jabba the Hut with eight legs, to come around to the front door. A minute later, the screen door pops open, she steps in, stops, looks around the room at the dog still cowering against the wall, the cats all frozen in stealth mode, and me on the coffee table...and she LAUGHS. She laughs her ASS off. She has tears rolling down her face, she's laughing so hard. This goes on for endless minutes, while the offending arachnid is crouched on the other side of the wall where she can't see him, but WE can. Finally, she regains enough control to ask, "Where is it?" I point in the direction of the stairway and she slowly makes her way into the living room and around to the stairwell, still snickering, and peeks around the corner. "HOLY SHIT!!!" she says. Yeah. No kidding. That's what I said. "Well, what do you want to do?" she asks. "Kill it." "How?" "Drop a brick on it," I say. "Eeeeeewww!!! Grosssss!!!!" she squeals, "That'd make a HUGE mess!" "Well then, we have to catch him," I say with zero enthusiasm. "Do you have a drinking glass big enough that we could set it on top of him?" she wants to know. "No." "A bowl?" she asks. "No." "A freaking SOUP POT maybe???" So I very slowly climb down off my perch on the coffee table, squeeze my way past the hallway, where Sir Spider is still lurking, and into the kitchen. I rummage around through the cupboards until I find a two quart glass Pyrex casserole dish. "Think this'll work?" I ask. "Yep. That should do it." Brave, brave Teresa. She puts on her Xena face and starts moving in for the capture. She gets about two feet away from the spider (shudder), leans over, and quickly drops the casserole dish on top of it. Easy as pie. The spider is royally pissed and is running around the perimeter of the dish like a wild banshee. But I can breathe now. I was so happy to see him under glass I could have cried. The next problem is what to do with him now? My first thought is to just let him suffocate under there. I suggest that. "I wonder how long it'd take?" Teresa asks. I have visions of waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of agonizing spider wails, slowly fading away, and decide that would be just too cruel. Even if he is ugly. Even if he should be deleted from the arachnid gene pool. So we decide the ONLY thing we really CAN do is find something to slide under the spider and the bowl, preferably something very stiff and very heavy, and capture him that way. And then turn him loose outside. In the next county. We could find nothing in the house that fit the bill. A calendar or a piece of cardboard would work as long as, once we got the bowl turned right side up, we had something heavy to put on top of it, but we were afraid these things were too thick and that he'd somehow squeeze his way through the crack when we tried to slide it under the bowl. Theoretically impossible, given his size, but still way too risky for me. "Maybe we could just call pest control and let them take care of it," she suggests. Too expensive. Besides, they'd laugh at us. Then I remember out in the garage I have some pieces of old tin that I think would be perfect. Not very heavy, but thin enough to slide under the bowl without risking escape, and very sturdy. So we head out to the garage for some tin. We find a piece of tin that is just the right size to cover our casserole. We aren't even gone for two minutes, I swear. We come back into the house to find: 1. All three cats still crouched in the exact same spots, hair on their backs standing straight up. 2. The dog still sitting in the exact same place, still with the dumb look. 3. The casserole dish partially ON TOP of the register grate, arachnid-less. We stood there in silence for the longest time, each of us in our own mind trying to come up with a plausible explanation for how that casserole dish slid a foot and a half across the floor onto that register grate. Finally, Teresa says, "How much you think that casserole weighs?" Pause. "Probably about two pounds."
Copyright Emma's Art
 Go ahead...steal this banner to use on your own site. It's the ONLY thing here that you can use without permission : )
|
