(Meet Mascot here; read about his almost-murder mystery here, and his escape to a new life here).
Well, I haven't had much luck fighting off the voracious fungus that's invaded my geranium patch. In fact, my geraniums have grown so shriveled that I accidentally uprooted one the other day having mistaken it for a weed.
Naturally I've lost all hope of Mascot ever returning.
But then, one night last week, I was about to drift into dreamland when the loud screeching of a grasshopper startled me back to consciousness. I tossed and turned, and tried to dip back into sleep, but I swear that thing was so loud it sounded like it was sitting on my head.
"Oh dear God," I begged. "Make.it.stop."
Which, incidentally, reminded me of the time my mom and some other homeschool moms took us kids to a nursing home to play our musical instruments for the elderly.
"It will make them so happy to hear your music," the moms assured us. "In fact, you'll probably make their day."
So a friend and I mustered up the willpower to play a beginners piano/violin duet for them, with me on the piano.
We played courageously and fervently for our audience, and then, about halfway into our musical debut, a loud, warbling voice from the back yelled,
"Make them stop!!!! Somebody MAKE.THEM.STOP!!!!!"
I can't say that I ever played at a nursing home again after that.
Anyway, after a few minutes of the grasshopper's chirruping and screeching I was on my feet with the lights on, opening closets and cupboards hoping to find and shush the little critter.
I'm not exactly sure how to go about shushing a grasshopper, anyway.
In retrospect I really should have known better and looked in my geranium patch. After all, Mascot's serenading from the geraniums last winter proved that sound travels quite well from my patio to my pillow.
But I didn't look. Not until this week, anyhow, when, quite by accident, I spotted a new, four-legged grasshopper clinging to the daisies in the middle of my geranium patch.
Delighted, my heart did a happy dance and I tip-toed away quietly, hoping I wouldn't scare him away. And you know what? He's still there, as I write! (And he continues to serenade me each night. . .).
Naturally, I couldn't let such an exciting turn of events go undocumented, so yesterday I whipped out my camera and moved in close, determined to capture my new little friend on film.
His antennae quivered and beady eyes stared back at me, and then, miracle of miracles, he began to eat the leaf he was clinging to.
Life on my patio, it be craaaaaayzee.
My jaw dropped as I watched his tiny little jaw move up and down, up and down, and I bet yours would have too. Never, in all my life, have I come so close to feeling like I was hanging out on the set of A Bug's Life. And never, in all my life, have I seen something so miniature work so perfectly. Gosh, God, you done good. That teeny weeny wittle jaw worked like a charm.
But don't take my word for it. Watch this amazingly geeky video I made and see for yourself. But please, do yourself a favor and pop a dramamine before hitting play.
Boy I hope my new, hungry little music-maker is here to stay.
If he does, what do you think I should name him?
© by scj