Wifey’s cry for help shook me out of my Sunday morning sleep.
There are few pleasures which gives me a high – one of them is getting up late on a weekend morning and the other one – an afternoon nap. Because I find night is a mighty wonderful time to waste on sleep.
Coming back to the cry, Wifey came to the bedroom and said, “Liza is here again ……. I hate her ……. please handle her fast……… now.”
Getting up with a grumpy face, I searched for her. Found her hanging around in the kitchen. My two little dollies, unfazed by this whole melodrama, continued to watch this while having their Sunday morning breakfast.
Sounding utmost cool, I took Sunday’s newspaper and confronted Liza. I tried to explain to her in non-verbal ways that this is the Wifey’s place and she can’t just barge in whenever she feels like. She understood the whole thing, but just paced from one end of kitchen to the other with her restless demeanor. I tried it once more going on my knees. She continued the same behavior.
In the mean time, Wifey was observing this whole drama was showing her restlessness in the most animated way – jumping up and down, closing her ears and eyes.
I yelled at the Wifey, “Please go in for God’s sake. Go.”
I practically locked Wifey in the bedroom to deal with Liza alone. Coming back to the kitchen, I couldn’t find her. I frantically started searching. Has she left already? Searched for sometime and found her behind the bookshelf. I again tried to make her understand that this is not the way and she should cooperate. Liza didn’t buzz.
I threw up my hands in the air, “God, why do you always do this to me?”. I tried one last time. But Liza being Liza, she has a mind of her own. She practically refused to co-operate. I gave up.
I had to resort to violence, sorry Bapu. I searched for something with a flat base, couldn’t find any. I took out my slippers and BANG. She tried to escape and hide somewhere else, but things had gone beyond the negotiation point. I took a final aim, cursed God, said a small prayer, and BANG again. She was dead. Yes, just like that, silenced just for being in the right place at the wrong time. I peacefully wrapped her up in the newspaper and threw her in the garbage bin outside.
My younger one came running behind me and asked, “Baba, where is Liza(rd)?”
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PS: Felt guilty all morning. Then I thought the best way to get rid of this guilt is to pen it down in words.
PPS: Are there any smart & non-violent ways to deal with these creepy-crawly-creatures? Please share the ideas.