For the Love of Pottery Part II

So, my over-zealous exterminator came over during this torrential downpour (which added to the drama of it all since my basement is the pathway for several major rivers during much rainfall) and I laid my story out for him, leaving no stone unturned. I showed him the remnants of the black stuff (that I hid under a rug for safe keeping and zero viewing) and the untouched, over turned bowl. He looked extremely puzzled, which bothered me as I hoped he could verify the culprit immediately. But the man got down on his hands and knees with me during my explanation and listened to all my rambling without ever looking at me like I am crazy or a poor housekeeper. (Though I think he was relieved that I rent my unique little home rather than own the place).

After my extensive background information, he set out to investigate. His first discovery was the miniature footprints circling the spot where my bowl used to rest. After I left him to his manly work and returned to the much more girly task of breading fish in the kitchen (yet requires equivalent if not more hand washing) he spent about 3o minutes down under. Upon returning upstairs, he gave me the rundown. He found more black icky stuff. A rather decent sized amount of it. He doubts a mouse (which certainly was in the pottery room) could have knocked over my bowl. However, whatever had been chasing it (which also had certainly been in the pottery room), probably could have.

And while he did not see anything, he is fairly sure that I have/had a snake in my basement.

Leaving me presents.

Breaking my art.

Eating mice.

Paying no rent...................................................................................................................

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGKKKKKKKKKKIIIIIIOOOOOOO. waaaa. boo. uhh. noo. sigh. I'm hungry. Where am I sleeping tonight? Do snakes fly? Why did I come back from vacay? I'm moving. I prefer ghosts and monsters. What's that blue fuzzy monster called in Monster's Inc?

It's so fluffy.

I will call the snake that. What if I catch a snake? I'm not touching it. I wanna catch it. Ew, mice. I hope I don't hurt them. That cat should come back. I should get a cat. Nah, probably not. I'm moving. Not really, this house is sweet. Well, kinda. I really like those shelves Tom built. I need more closet space. I thought the train just made that bowl fall. Why do I have a train? My rent's not that cheap. I want to live cheap. Oh, wait, that's why I have rivers and snakes. Chooo choooo. Chew. Dinner.

The exterminator promised to come the minute I found something caught in the basement (I think he was excited at the variety in his job) and left me all his numbers and the assurance that the office was only a mile from my house. And so, here I type, with 4 snake traps beneath me, 10 mouse traps and a decidedly scary room formerly known as my pottery studio.

So, you can never know what you love will get you into, or what will come attacking it. But, all I can say is I greatly enjoyed throwing the bowls for my dishes set on the (upstairs) screened in porch while the sun set and will eventually venture downstairs to add them to the shelves with my other pieces waiting to be fired.

And if I see a snake... I will do my best not to drop my pots.