He'd been watching me for hours, with his beady eyes, hobnail boots, fangs and horns.
Ready, biding his time before springing unexpectedly as I walked hesitantly, nervously through the door.
But no. I procrastinated yet again. Will I ever learn?
I forgot about his silent presence overnight, but this morning remember his stealth, not with dread, loathing or fear. More, as two adversaries sizing each other up, opponents equal in status if not size. But he's gone. Not parading his ownership of this space any longer.
I wait, unsure when, or even if he'll jump.
Will a long, slender, elegantly hairy leg be extended coyly from behind a picture frame, curtain rod or dresser, waving seductively, sneering at my inability to reach him?
Oh no. A dreadful thought appears in my brain. He wouldn't would he? That would be ... explosive?... gripping? I'm unsure which, but NOT... shudder ... from inside the toilet roll ... NO!
To spray would be unsporting,
but then again ...
|In stealth mode|
|Fully kitted out with hobnail boots|
How do you procrastinate? At work? In your career? In life?
For the curious, the Huntsman was as big as the palm of my hand and is still in hiding (hence the sketches). If female I bet she's laid a squillion eggs by now. I suppose I'd better be prepared for company.