And speaking of flying . . .

. . . part 2:

One day recently as I passed by the bedroom door I heard an unusual noise. What, another frog in the house? I tracked the chirp through the bedroom, into the master bath and to the window, where I had to climb into the bath tub to identify the mystery caller. We have a large bouganvillea plant/shrub/tree on a trellis outside the master bath window. Looking for the source of the wildlife chatter I immediately saw a grey squirrel looking back at me. It's hard to say who was more startled; he took off up the trellis and onto the roof where I heard him scamper away. Then I saw it -- he had been about to trespass on a bird's nest. Getting my footing on the back of the tub, no easy task for my balance-challenged self, I was able to jam my head up under the blinds far enough to see eggs in the nest. I couldn't see far enough into the nest to count them but knew there were at least two.

Putting two and two together, I came up with four. No, not really. I recalled that we had recently welcomed a new cardinal couple to our feeder and quickly deduced that this would be their nest. Not that I recognized the eggs without looking them up on the web, but since the only birds we've had around here in the over four years we've lived in Florida are NEVER smaller than a terradactyl, I didn't have to use my rocket-scientist side of the brain.

So excited I was/am by having what I consider a "regular midwestern bird" visiting that I immediately adopted the nest as my project. Finally finding a use for that roll of quarter inch hardware cloth I'd been hoarding, I located my tool-wielding spouse and directed his installation of various squirrel obstacles. Next began the daily observations.

Mind you, observing Momma on the nest was no easy task since she was hypervigilant and would take off at the slightest provocation. Photographing her was even more difficult so I'm really happy to have gotten that photo. It made me wonder about the egg-laying process itself: is it like human labor? Eeesh! I don't want to think about it.

After several days I was overjoyed to find the eggs had been replaced by tiny creatures from outer space:



I know the photos could be better, but what can one expect from a small digital camera? In the past couple of days we've also seen Dad visiting the little ones but haven't been able to catch him in a photo.

I am frightened.

This is the second night in a row that the flomar is not in the bed. For those of you who don't know, "flomar" is Martian for "warm, furry friend." Our own flomar has slept in our bed, under the blankets, since day one of her residence here on our planet. Last night, or actually earlier this morning when I dragged myself to bed, I noticed she wasn't there. I found this of enough importance to wake the Spousal Unit to ask of her whereabouts. His prompt reply: she's probably in the chair. Why? WHY???Why, all of a sudden, is she in the chair? Is she withdrawing? Why?

Tonight, pretty much the same scenario only a little bit earlier, I make my way to my side of the bed mostly by braille. I immediately sense that there is one less lump than there should be. In the darkness I reach into the guts of the chair, the papasan piled with many pillows and the heavy quilt that would be inappropriate for this time in this climate. Immediately my hands connect with the flomar. I pull her out of the cave and clutch her to my chest like the long-lost precious pearl and crawl into bed with her. I don't understand what's going on and it frightens me.

Bored yet?

Okay, I changed up the playlist slightly. I figured most of my posts wouldn't get you past Amy Winehouse. Seriously, I love my playlist. Come back here when you're done conducting business (yeah, right) on your computer and turn up the volume, instant entertainment or at least further insight into my mental state. You're plugged in and powered up anyway, might as well be using it for something besides a desk anchor.

And P.S., I'm going to be adding another section to my Etsy shop. I was going to call it "From the Dark Side" but decided "The Time Capsule" was a little less frightening. Watch for it!

Snakes alive!

Okay, I’m done with living in the Wild Kingdom. We just came back from Home Depot and Jim drove up to the garage and stopped before entering to let me out. I sat there screaming (more or less). It goes something like this:

Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!

Jim: (He jumps.) What?

Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!

Jim: (Becoming irritated.) What?

Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!

Jim: What? (Concerned; he’s wondering if I’m having a heartie tack)

Me: AAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaghh!

Jim: WHAT!!! (I think he’s getting ready to give me one of those Cher/Nicholas Cage “snap out of it” slaps.)

So I point to the little sidewalk that leads up to our front door and the three foot long black racer sitting there. It has its head up in air a few inches, hungrily eyeing the three fat lizards who are on the stucco and are never coming down. Jim gives me the “Are you for real?” look and says “It’s a baby.”

(Expletive deleted) that baby!

So I realize I’m going to have to get out of the car eventually and at least outside the garage there is more room to run (because I know there can be more of them in the garage; been there, done that). I open the garage door and it slithers into the tiny hedge of Indian hawthorns between the front door slab (lovingly referred to as "the front porch") and little sidewalk and Jim now says “There. It’s gone.”

Like that is (expletive deleted) GONE? Like it isn’t there hiding in the place where I regularly pull weeds just waiting to grab my unsuspecting hand with it’s nasty, aggressive sharp teeth and then fly up my arm and latch on to my jugular? GONE? WHAT IS HE, (EXPLETIVE DELETED) NUTS?

I am never leaving the house again and I’m even done picking up the mail because I have been surprised by lizards and frogs in the mailbox before and I can only guess what will be living in the mailbox sometime soon. That's probably where the flatty on the street came from, the mailman knocked him out of there and ran over him. Yeccccchhhhhhhhhhh.