Just a few minutes ago I was reading some blogs when I heard a crash from the living room. Knowing that Bruce was asleep in the bedroom, I immediately stood up as quietly as possible with all intentions of catching the Linus in the act of something. He was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn't even look up as I came in the room. That's when I noticed that he had on his stalking-face (the same one he gets when he decides my foot has twitched in a very delicious-looking manner), and that he was peering down into one of the cracks in the cushions of the couch.
Bug! Good Linus! Catch the buggy, eat him if you must. I mentally applaud any and all efforts on his behalf to rid us of household pests. Mentally, because Bruce is much more likely to get disgusted and scold him for eating things that are alive, and I don't want to gross Bruce out by cheering him on. The cheering (mental or otherwise) usually stops when and if there is crunching involved anyway. Crunching = Gross. But I digress.
So Linus was peering into the cracks of the couch most curiously and I wanted to help him out. I'm a good mom in that respect. I approached and spread the cushions apart to allow him greater access to his prey, and almost shit myself when I saw what was in there.
This! That disgusting thing was in there! That thing that crawled into my shoe in the dark one summer on the way home from the roller skating rink at the county park and then when I put my foot back into my shoe it was there and it MOVED and CRUNCHED and may possibly have BITTEN me, that thing! Was! In! My! Couch!
It appeared to be dead, but it was Not! Dead! And Linuses had lost all interest in it the second that it started appearing dead. So I did the only sensible thing a woman can do when her good-for-nothing cat is disinterested and her bug-killing husband is asleep.
I made myself a PMOP and took it outside. What, you think I'd make it crunch?