Having an email conversation with my husband usually misses the point.
Two days ago, our home was scheduled for the annual termite inspection. I asked Scott to move aside the boxes in the garage that hid the trap door for under the house. Usually when he does this, he cleans off the garage door area so that unsuspecting spider victims, namely me, don’t become Flamenco dancers in front of the termite man. Sadly, he forgot to do this.
Before opening the garage door for Mr. T. Man, that would be Mr. Termite Man, I had to send the dogs to the backyard, and bring in the cats to my bedroom. Tiger, “Mr. Inquisitive," was nowhere to be found. So I locked the bedroom door, let in the dogs and went to the garage from inside the house.
Mr. T. Man heard me call Scott a few names, as I had to move some boxes over, and then take the lock off the garage door. I put the lock on the nearest box at eye level. I tell you this because I might need to find that lock again and have to reread this blog to do so.
The sliding bar was easily dispatched, and I hesitated in pulling the door up. Apparently, millions of spiders cohabitated the area and brought their snacks to hang along the door’s face. After brushing them with an old sock, not sure where that came from, I lifted the door, cringing at what was on the very bottom. It’s amazing what the wind, rain and tiny insects can crawl or get pushed under a tightly sealed door.
Mr. T. Man nonchalantly walked under the garage door, and I apologized for the mess. He was unphased and helped me move some boxes away from the trap door.
“I’m missing one of my cats, and I know that when he heard the garage door open, he’s likely to come in here, so when you go under the house, please pull the trap door behind you, so he doesn’t end up under the house, and I never see him again.” Termite man said he would. “And would you mind closing the garage door after you finish? “ Termite man nodded.
About 30 minutes later Termite man showed up with documents to sign, and then went on. I looked toward the garage, and the door was open. I began to panic.
I went into the garage and started calling Tiger’s name. I heard his bell jingle from his collar, and I knew he wasn’t under the house but in the great abyss.
I kept calling his name, and soon a nose popped out between boxes and yard tools crisscrossed between shelves. I called him again, and he made a valiant attempt to leave the area. Only his eyes were almost closed. Squinty eyed and a face distorted from cobwebs and every form of lint and dust bunny he located, matted down his whiskers and fur. He barely got out of the garage alive.
I chased Tiger down and surgically remove the debris. He moved away rubbing his face along the sidewalk, the grass and shrubby straightening out his whiskers. Did he learn a lesson from this? I doubt it.
When I emailed Scott about the incident, his only reply was “Well, did we pass the bug inspection?”
I don’t think I’ll tell him where the lock is, and neither should you.
Have a great day. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
Watch out for Tiger please.