So the bug guy was here yesterday for the second time in a week. He’s getting to be quite the regular fixture around here. He actually told me last week that he enjoys coming to our house because there’s always something new to deal with. He said we were “well-rounded customers.”
Right now we are having issues with rodents. I’m sure that for many of you the first thing that popped into your mind upon reading that was, “What?! How can they possibly have any kind of rodent problem if they live with 3 cats?” Trust me. It’s not for any lack of desire on the cats’ parts. I know that as far as they’re concerned, they would like nothing more than to have as their goal in life the scouring of all rodents from the face of the earth. Well, at least two of them would. I’m pretty sure that the big cat’s goal in life is to become surgically grafted onto my husband’s body so as to be physically attached to him at all times. (She has some issues.)
The reason we are having rodent issues now is that when I was growing up we had outdoor cats, and they were always bringing us “presents” and leaving them for us at the back door. And frankly, I’ve come face to face with just about all the random bird, squirrel, and chipmunk parts that I can handle for one lifetime. So now we have indoor cats, which is why we also have The Bug Guy. He comes to deal with all of those icky things for me, and I get to continue living in my illusion that the world is only filled with nice, soft, cuddly creatures.
The only hitch in this plan is the fact that The Bug Guy constantly feels compelled to Tell Me Things, including wa-a-ay more information than I would ever want to know about the creatures with which he is dealing. Yesterday he said that he really likes this job because I am always happy to see him. That is certainly true, but apparently that mutual happiness then leads him to want to share things with me, which is why I now know things like how many rodents tend to group together in one spot, or why they are constantly gnawing onvthings, or the fact that apparently they’re playing out their own squeaky version of “Survivor” down in my basement and kicking out the weak members of the tribe.
Next time, just bring me chocolate.
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