Friday, March 31, 2006
Lizzy and Jumpy Joe: Who Needs a Cat or a Dog?
After a rather stressful week in which I gave up any and all chance
s for a day off for another two weeks, we had another lock-down in the school over the immigration issue, and Karim was laid-off *again* by a dishonest employer and rehired by another company, my heart leapt at the chance for joy when I heard Karim stutter the words, "There's a lizard on the porch!" Naturally, I dove off the couch and outside for a look, and lo, darting off the concrete and into the grass for a better shot at hopping onto the wooden railing surrounding our porch, was Lizzie. She'd gotten a tad bigger and her tail was twice as big as her body. When she first popped into the grass, she was a chocolate brown color, but after getting up on the railing, which is stark white, she started to turn a bright lime green, thinking, of course, that we wouldn't see her as we looked down at her with the backdrop of green grass. I missed Lizzie through the winter, figuring that she must have gone into hiding with Hurricane Rita's approach, and stayed wherever lizards stay when they hibernate. She's back now, and was on and off the porch and the railing all afternoon. I stood out and watched her for a while, but then I had to go to Anna's for the start of my weekend.
We've been having another visitor in our home for the last three weeks or so who lives in a cavity on the underside of our coffee table. I have named him "Jumpy Joe" the jumping spider. If we are sitting on the sofa, he crawls out of his lonely hiding place, traverses the entire circumference of the rim of the table, and stops right in front of us. He simply jumps around in a one centimeter circle, like a happy puppy, as if he's trying to converse with us. This morning, I bent down to get a close look at him, with my feet on the couch, because, although I think he's a pretty cool spider, I would do the "there's-a-spider-on-me-get-it-off" dance if he were to jump my direction. I started saying a few words to him, much to my husband's dismay (he already thinks I'm magnoona--crazy), and he seemed to stop bouncing around while I spoke. After the conversation was over, he simply turned, crossed the table, jumped onto the largest of our three ceramic pyramids, climbed over it, like a little child in the park, and then disappeared back into the table.
I wonder if the apartment management would charge us a deposit if they knew we had THESE pets? I don't think I'll tell them.
s for a day off for another two weeks, we had another lock-down in the school over the immigration issue, and Karim was laid-off *again* by a dishonest employer and rehired by another company, my heart leapt at the chance for joy when I heard Karim stutter the words, "There's a lizard on the porch!" Naturally, I dove off the couch and outside for a look, and lo, darting off the concrete and into the grass for a better shot at hopping onto the wooden railing surrounding our porch, was Lizzie. She'd gotten a tad bigger and her tail was twice as big as her body. When she first popped into the grass, she was a chocolate brown color, but after getting up on the railing, which is stark white, she started to turn a bright lime green, thinking, of course, that we wouldn't see her as we looked down at her with the backdrop of green grass. I missed Lizzie through the winter, figuring that she must have gone into hiding with Hurricane Rita's approach, and stayed wherever lizards stay when they hibernate. She's back now, and was on and off the porch and the railing all afternoon. I stood out and watched her for a while, but then I had to go to Anna's for the start of my weekend.We've been having another visitor in our home for the last three weeks or so who lives in a cavity on the underside of our coffee table. I have named him "Jumpy Joe" the jumping spider. If we are sitting on the sofa, he crawls out of his lonely hiding place, traverses the entire circumference of the rim of the table, and stops right in front of us. He simply jumps around in a one centimeter circle, like a happy puppy, as if he's trying to converse with us. This morning, I bent down to get a close look at him, with my feet on the couch, because, although I think he's a pretty cool spider, I would do the "there's-a-spider-on-me-get-it-off" dance if he were to jump my direction. I started saying a few words to him, much to my husband's dismay (he already thinks I'm magnoona--crazy), and he seemed to stop bouncing around while I spoke. After the conversation was over, he simply turned, crossed the table, jumped onto the largest of our three ceramic pyramids, climbed over it, like a little child in the park, and then disappeared back into the table.
I wonder if the apartment management would charge us a deposit if they knew we had THESE pets? I don't think I'll tell them.
