Giving Me The Creeps

I'm not agoraphobic in the traditional sense.  I'm just not a fan of creepy spiders, which in my book are pretty much any spider that's not a Daddy Long Legs.

When they're outside, I'm all, "Live and let live."  But when I see one crawling along the bathroom sink or basement carpet, that's a no go.

Luckily, our indoor cat thinks any spider that unwittingly enters our house is a new toy we picked up for her at PetCo, where the pets go.   I believe I can thank her for taking out the thing that looked like a mangled Black Widow next to my desk.  And only because we live in Jersey, and not Cali, am I not freaking the #%@! out right now.


I could go ask Cara to give a post-mortem on the remnants.  But I value my life, and don't relish getting mowed over as she makes a cartoon-like impression in the wall running from said bug.  I said this spider was particularly creepy, right?

But here's what I don't like: I don't like having to be brave about getting rid of a spider -- dead or alive -- if Mike's not around or if he's on deadline or watching an NFL game or a particularly riveting episode of Discovery ID.

Sometimes, I want to be a baby and not the mom.

But seeing as that's not actually an option for about 30 more years when the kids are picking out my diapers and nursing home,  I still regularly have to deal with spiders.  Which is why I could kick myself for letting my Marie Claire subscription lapse -- right in time for the autumn spider invasion, no less.   That magazine had just the right engineering: it's easily rolled, yet has enough heft to make a lethal impact.

Unfortunately, I let the Marie Claire subscription lapse because well,  I don't know.  Something about size zero 19-year-olds in $5,000 Burberry Prorsum and Valentino concoctions makes me feel more withered than aspirational.  Even worse, Cara was reading it... and then sending me links to apparel web sites.

That leaves me with Sunday paper inserts to phwack spiders, Asian stink bugs and assorted other arthropods and arachnids.

Which is why I'm grateful our cat Molly finds bugs highly fascinating.  She'll bat them around like mini soccer balls, perhaps engage them in a little "trap and release." She might wrap up the play date by eating them.  Or leaving them by my desk, to show off the prize kill.

Sure it's primitive in a suburban kind of way, but it keeps the cat happy.  And the bug juice off the wall.

Pumpkin Folly

I would like to think the squirrels in my nabe are a step above the average hyena or North Jersey gavone.  Sadly, they ain't.

To wit: I put a pumpkin out on Thursday afternoon.  By Friday, a squirrel was making like Michael Phelps  diving into that thing.

It emerged two-fisting the pumpkin seeds, drunk from vegetative overload.   In record time, my front steps were covered in pumpkin guts and seed scraps. 

I grabbed my cat, parked her by the front door and told her she was on patrol until further notice.  Cats are really into following orders.

Cut to Columbus Day, which was about three days after the Great Pumpkin Massacre.  The town's schools were closed, so my son and I decided it was high time we went apple pickin'.  Only, back in April when New Jersey had a spring break, the temps hit 90 degrees.  So everything bloomed two weeks early.   Even apple blossoms.  So, apples were done and gone two weeks early.  Who knew?  Not us, that's for sure.

We got to the farm stand, and farm stand boy informed us, "You're too late, ma'am."  After I gave him a beat down for practically calling me "granny," we bought tickets for a hay ride to their pumpkin field.  That's right, I was taking my chances on getting more pumpkins.  I figured our cat had been on the job and secured the perimeter.  No squirrel in its right mind would breach our border.

Ryan told farm stand boy we'd take five pumpkins.  When I reminded Ry I have only two arms, the total got cut to three pumpkins.  Which was one too many considering... I'm me.  The pumpkins in the field were all average to huge in size.  Ryan said I should ask the dude running field ops for a bag to carry my two pumpkins.  It was a GREAT idea, except that the uber gourds didn't get any lighter or smaller in the Hefty bag.  But at least we got the damn things to the car without resorting to kicking them through the parking lot.

All was hunky dory until we got home.  That's when I saw, in our absence, the squirrel had eaten the ornamental kale I'd set out.   #!%@!!  Instead of a decorative purple and green cabbage on the steps, I was left to look at a plastic pot with four chewed up leaves and a white spiny middle staring up at me.

I yelled for Molly, our cat.

Me: "What happened?!  What's going on?!  Are you sleeping on the job or what!?"
Molly: "Mmmmph? Purrrrt."

My three Great Pumpkins?  They're in the living room 'til Halloween.