ver. min. man.

We came home from the market on Thursday and found Veda wrestling on the floor with what turned out to be a giant spider. The f**ker was almost too big for the pint glass to get around him. And the big toothy-looking things on the front ... dude. Huge.

Then, last night while I'm cooking food and moving back and forth between the counter space, I hear behind me: "Oh. My. God."

The cousin/roommate had just gone outside to check the meter to see what kind of damage the ceiling heat might do, so I had pictures in my head of the thing spinning out of control and what winter would be like without heat and how much that would suck because it would be yet another winter where I freeze in my room -- But then he says:

"There's a dead mouse in the kitchen."

Yeah, right there. Right where I had been standing and picking out which onion to use.

So, on the one hand, Veda's proven that she can finish the job, which was something Cat never did. Cat would carry a mouse around in her mouth for fun and cousin/roommate always had to seal the deal. But, on the other hand, does this mean we're going to be sharing the house with critters all winter? If so, watch your backs. She looks sweet enough, but...

Veda, what's happened?

He's dead. He said horrible things. He didn't want me around anymore. He told me to get out. And then he laughed at me. He wouldn't stop laughing. I told him I'd kill him. He said I didn't have guts enough. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to, I tell you. But the gun kept going off, over and over again. Then he was lying there, looking at me, just looking at me. You've got to help me. Give me money to get away - and time. I've got to get away before they find him.

(wearily) I can't get you out of this, Veda.