If you're hoppy and you know it...

Greetings, Tracey's loyal readers. I am usually among you, but today I address you. You may have seen my name (and noticed it, for it is unusual) in some of her posts and in many of her comments. I'm Sally-Anne, a former coworker of Tracey's and erstwhile Monday matinee companion.

While I always appreciate Tracey's insights and random musings, one thing in particular she said once struck me today. I paraphrase, but she said that sometimes the harder life gets -- the more "heavy" things she has to deal with -- the lighter/more frivolous her posts get. Currently I am enduring serious family illnesses, a wreck of a love life, financial woes and a huge unstudied-for exam coming up in the next week that is going to kick my tooshie, so I have chosen as my guest-post topic: bugs.

I am a pretty strong, independent person, but I CANNOT ABIDE INSECTS and turn into a squealing ninny around them. When I took my cat, Mr. Kitty (whom Tracey had the unfortunate experience of meeting only once when she [Mr. Kitty -- yes, she is a female] was at her worst), into my home, I did so with the strict caveat that she would be responsible for bug-killing. Or at least, bug-maiming such that I could finish the job without fear said bug would jump or crawl all over me. I know bugs are God's creatures, and it is perhaps ironic that I am so extreme an animal lover that I'm a vegetarian/near-vegan and non-leather-purchaser yet I slaughter insects by any means necessary, but there you have it.

This time of year where I live, I am plagued (admitted hyperbole -- I see maybe two or three a week) by what I call "hoppy bugs." I guess they're some sort of grasshopper, but I had never seen these before until moving to this area a little over a year ago. Mr. Kitty likes to bop them when they're moving around, but if they stand still, as they tend to do when they know that either I or Mr. Kitty is hovering, Mr. Kitty loses interest. One of these hoppy bugs was the reason I was late to work this morning. I threw heavy books at it but missed, and it hopped around but remained alive and in my way such that I could not get ready and out the door in an expedient manner. Mr. Kitty, growing ever more lax about her ONE JOB AROUND THE HOUSE, just sat.

A rather disappointing coda to this story is that this morning's hoppy bug hopped somewhere I couldn't see him, so he is still around. If I go home tonight to find him belly-up, Mr. Kitty will get a treat. More likely, I'll just encounter him again sometime soon and go through the whole squealing/object-throwing-and-missing routine anew.

Whew! Sorry I went on so long in my guest-blogging debut, but I feel better having shared this admittedly trivial yet personally haunting experience.

Sally-Anne