Goodbye Earl

Late last night I heard the clickety-clickety-clickety of tiny feet on my wood floor. When my dog Zoey walks across the floor her claws make a similar sound, but this definitely was not her. I looked across the room and saw the biggest, ickiest bug I've seen in a very long time. It disappeared under the TV cabinet.

I thought to myself, "That was the scariest bug I've seen in a while. I hope he stays under there."

He did not.

I did what any rational woman would do and I ran upstairs and grabbed all of my big clunky shoes. To squish the bug? No. To throw them at him. This bug was so big I thought for sure I would lose a finger if I got within arm's length of him.

A few minutes later I saw him scurrying towards the couch, a trail of shoes in his wake. Now, if he had stayed hidden under the TV I would have left him alone, but there was no way I was going to go anywhere near my couch with that monster hiding within it.

I did what every bug hunter would do. I tipped the couch over on it's back and chased the bugger into the kitchen.

We were now on my turf. Better lighting. Fewer places to hide. He went under the table. I moved the chairs. He went behind the trash can. I lifted it up and put it on the counter. The cat and mouse game (or girl and bug game) moved into the foyer and eventually, the coat closet.

I created a border -- just high enough so that if my foe escaped the coat closet he would never make it back to the kitchen or living room. I opened the door and held my breath.

He wasn't behind the vacuum. He wasn't behind the steam cleaner. He wasn't behind the windshield wiper fluid or hiding under the ladder. I know this because I removed them all.

He wasn't under the folding chair. Or behind the box of painting supplies. He was running out of places to hide.

There were only 2 boxes left. I lifted the first; still no bug. I turned around to place it on the table and when I turned back he was sitting in the middle of the floor, taunting me with his bugginess. He quickly scampered back behind the final box. I slid it out of the way -- I had him cornered.

Somewhere during my chase I had picked up the 2x2 plank I use to bolt my glass doors shut. It was now my weapon and I knew how to use it.

Once the bug was on to the next world and his body had been returned to nature I surveyed the damage: the contents of the closet dragged out into the kitchen, the overturned couch, the scattered shoes. To the victor goes the reconstruction. Isn't that how it always works?