I finished up my run on the treadmill, stepped around the couch, flipped the square coffee table on its side to make room on the rug for my sit-ups and stretches...
...and that's when I saw this...
Well, not this exact centipede, although it did cross my mind to run upstairs and get my camera...
Instead, I came to my senses. I knew I needed to get rid of that thing.
Stomp it? No - I remembered stomping on a big one like this a few years ago in the kitchen ("big" as in 5 or 6 inches long!) and what I mostly remember about it is how it didn't die easily and I had to keep hitting it and there were tiny legs scattered all over my kitchen floor.
I also remembered standing in my shower stall one morning, looking up, and seeing one about the same size taking the corner of the shelf above me rather tight - he was close enough to the edge that, well, I could see him!
Fastest shower I ever took, needless to say.
Anyway, with those memories flashing in my brain like neon signs, I ran into the laundry room where I knew we had a glass jar stored for catching bugs.
Well, I thought we had one in there. I couldn't find it. So I grabbed a really pretty red decorative can, dumped the two dozen ear plug packs it held onto the washing machine, and ran back to the rug, ready to scoop the sucker up, not caring that my pretty red can would now have centipede germs in it.
It was gone.
In retrospect, I should have stomped it when I had the chance, tiny-leg messes be damned.
I spent about ten minutes looking under the rug, under the shelves - I even using a long wooden back scratcher to reach under things. No luck.
So I called Tom. Not just to dump responsibility on him (that was part of it) but to warn him of its presence in case I forgot later.
Yes, my memory is that bad.
Now, hours later, we've both searched the room to no avail...
So that means...
...somewhere in our house...
