Again

Tonight I hefted the laundry basket downstairs, full of self-righteousness about having unpacked my suitcase only four days after arriving from out of town. A tidy person, me. I set the washer to fill and picked the first sweater from the basket, lifting it to turn inside-out.

I caught a glimpse of movement from the side of the dryer.

The light was behind me, so of course it might have been the shadow of my arm.

I studied the room. I pulled one sweater arm free, then the other.

A teeny face peeped at me from the side of the dryer. I dropped the sweater.

I screamed, then boldly stated, GO LIVE SOMEWHERE ELSE, which got Trixie upset from her perch upstairs, and I bolted away with the laundry basket (didn't want the sweaters to become a cozy bed). I had to leave. My ankles felt so vulnerable. I left the washer running, empty, which is sad, but I'm not going down there again. Then I called Terminix.