Anyway, I was emptying it yesterday when I felt something under my left, bare foot. Looking down, I made that NOISE I make when all of my primal circuits are tripped, sending me floating back a good five feet. That's because I has stepped on a scorpion, already pre-killed.
I know Rob was complaining about cat-sitting a cat that liked her so much it brought her dead rats (and other formerly living things), and immediately got the feeling I was looking at one of our own Scout's kills (Scout is the sweet "black" cat who adores Rob). Picking up said corpse I brought it upstairs to show Michele (in hindsight, I have no idea why... perhaps it was some deep seated desire to prove I HAD stepped on one of those damn things). When I came up the stairs, Scout was lying on the couch, staring at me... and I swear she looked pleased that I had found it.
Considering this is only the second scorpion I've seen in the house in nearly six years, I'm not too worried. We deal with the pretty purple newts far more often.
Last night, Rob had a similar experience, only.... well, here's how it went down.
I was working on a CD order for Rotunda Artworks (woohoo!) when I hear Michele asking "John, be a man with long arms and take care of this really big spider!" Now, Michele may not LIKE spiders, but she's not deathly afraid of them. I grumbled a bit (I hate getting interrupted), but jumped when I saw the monster that Scout and her sister Love Child were herding on the kitchen floor. While not tarantula sized (I understand they have those in the foothills on the peninsula side... something I don't tell my arachnaphobic mother) it was impressive, and moved very, VERY fast. I scooted it into a glass jar and took it outside. My reward for this good deed was a seriously dirty look from the aforementioned fearless hunter, Scout. Love Child, who was the cat who found the spider, wasn't anywhere near as upset, and used the attention to ask to be played with for a bit.
Now, off to start my day...