Wednesday, February 19, 2003

I spent the weekend at Cade's.

He was getting rid of his rather troublesome old flatmate, finally.

All good.

Today his new flatmate turned up.
Cade says he seems to be a perfectly nice fellow who he shouldn't have any troubles with.
And the guy's cat (name: Kit) is a friendly one.

All good.

Then Cade tells me about how the fellow forgot to mention before he moved in that he has a tarantula.


I force myself to keep calm and confirm that yes it's a real tarantula. I am not mishearing what Cade is telling me. The guy feeds dead mice to the thing and keeps it in a glass box.
This thing is going to be in the room next to Cade's.

I am not going to be able to go in that room.

And without going into that room I will not be able to confirm that it is safely in that box and not hunting mice under the chair I may be sitting on, or under the bed I may be sleeping in.

I tell Cade I am going to try and be sensible, and I am sure it is all perfectly safe, and I will try and be grown up about it.


Cade asked me to go stay over on Wednesday.

I've told him I've suddenly come down with a broken leg.

And anyway, I was going to see a movie that night.

Or something.

Sydney 2003

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