Last night I typed up a short piece about losing a Facebook friend. It was just a rambling expose of thoughts, without any of my usual opinions and revelations. (As a friend put it not too long ago: “Perrin’s blog: government bad.”). I was blown away by the high traffic this short post generated – more than many of what I consider good, in-depth articles.
I thank you for your patronage and I apologize if my story broke bad news to some of you. I got some emails and messages about the death in question.
More, I think, is due now on the creation of that post – not of its nature or origin but rather the environment in which it was written. I can work wherever there is internet connectivity (or decent cell reception) – most places: the house, cigar shops, the gym, coffee houses, bars, hotels, etc. Sometimes, most times, I like working outside. Last night’s posting about Facebook was developed in a garden shed. I do some of my best work there, hot in the summer, cold in the winter.
Day or night I tend to get visitors in the shed. These are mostly flying insects though the occasional cat or bird may drop by. With the exception of mosquitoes, their company is welcomed by me.
Last night, while I typed away about a man I’d never actually met, I heard a scratching, scrambling noise above my head. The shed has a loft, a big shelf near the ceiling. The building is less than well secure so it’s possible for all manner of critters to enter.
As the bumping and scrapings continued and intensified I began to ponder what sort of beast I was working with. It was very dark so all I had to work with was auditory information and imagination. Based on observation, I decided it must be either a rat or a squirrel up there, bumping around. I even contemplated the possibility of a raccoon.I don’t mind any of these varmints but then it occurred to me – what if it, whatever it is, is rabid?
I actually don’t mind sick animals (they never bother me; I feel bad for them) but I did not want a Jerry Clower story breaking out either. Still, I pecked away. Nothing happened. Whatever was up there seemed as at home with me as I was with it.
The Humane Society.
Upon completing the stories of the evening I prepared to exit. I turned on the light and looked up. What I had taken in my mind to be mammalian turned out to just be two slender, black beetles. They buzzed away rather stupidly trying to fly through the roof. Given the small size of their brains – with less mental horsepower than even the average politician – this was not surprising. I left them where they were, figuring they’d eventually make it out or make some spider very happy.
This is another of those stories without a central theme, moral or otherwise. I just thought it, for some reason, worth relaying.