A Hunting He Will Go
For Pete’s sake, how much longer must I wait?? Harold muttered exasperatedly. This was not the plan at all. I was meandering about the house, doing my hunting and gathering thing to share with the clan, and now I’m going to be late for lunch!
Harold’s thoughts ran away with him as he considered his options, of which none existed.
There is no way around or out of this mess. ‘I’m stuck. I’m cornered.’
As question marks bumped into exclamation marks in a caricature fashion, and swam in a haphazard orbit around his head, he heard the continuing, gesticulating conversation taking place on speakerphone out on the back patio.
She’s still jawing away, flapping those lips. The last time her sister called, she clocked up over an hour. At least she replaced the batteries in the wall clock in the kitchen. I can now keep track of the day.
The conversation rambled along like tumbleweed, ”I know, Fran, I know. That’s what I said, too. But It’s not my call to make, she’s got to make her own mistakes, I guess.”
“It’s not the end of the world, Martha, but it’s not a great start either, is it?”
I have no idea what they are on about, nor do I care. What bothers me, there is no way out of this corner I am in. Why didn’t she use fast-drying paint? How long will it take to dry? There’s no way I’m walking across it, I’ll get stuck - and that will be that.
Harold thought he had time to get across to the breakfast bar before her paint roller got too close to him, but when Martha is on a mission, there’s no holding her back
Worst still, she’s wearing that darn green bandana so nothing is going to get in her way…except her sister with fresh gossip. So she took the call and settled on the lounger out on the patio. Meanwhile, the roller dries up and I’m left waiting. So very inconsiderate!
Inconsiderations aside, Harold was still wondering how he was going to get down from his spot. It was going to become very tiresome indeed in his current position beside the light shade covered with fly poo. That’ll be the next thing, she’ll take all the light coverings down and wash or buy flash new ones. The new paint will show up the dust and whatever else.
As Harold contemplated the complexities of this moment and life in general, there was a shift in gear out on the patio.
“Okay, Fran, you call me. I’m painting the ceiling so I had better make a move. Let me know how you get on.”
“Okay, Martha. You haven’t got ideal weather for painting, this rain is meant to set in.”
Well, you know, when the mood hits me, it’s hard to dampen the fire in my belly.’
“True, take some anti-acids, that’s good for heartburn, but nothing generally stops you when your mind is set.’
“Yup. You know it! Talk soon! Bye.’
Martha sighed, getting out of the lounger, ‘Now… where was I? I’ll finish that patch, and that’s the job done! She glanced at her phone as she entered the kitchen, ‘Darn it, one bar left. I better charge it up before she rings back.’
Harold sighed. Any time today would be nice…
Martha examined the roller, which was a little crusty to the touch with drying paint. ‘Darn it, but it’s not worth starting with a new roller for that last little bit…’
As she looked up to see where she had left off, Harold held his breath.
Martha, almost cross-eyed, peered through a splotch of paint on the left lens of her glasses. It impaired her vision somewhat, hence she had not noticed Harold thus far.
‘What’s that?’ She squinted, knowing it was futile to remove her glasses for a better examination of the large dark round shape on the ceiling, her glasses aided her vision, so removal was inviting a complete blur.
‘I hope it’s not mould…’ she muttered to herself.
Don’t roll that wet sticky crusty roller over me, for goodness sake! Harold said a prayer as his life flashed before his eyes. He also gave thanks to Pablo, who had shown him the benefits of praying when times get tough. The praying mantis community had become an ally with his clan.
As much as he tried to remain as still as possible, his leg was starting to cramp, so he agonisingly stretched it out.
“Ohhhhh…No! Argh! How long have you been there?’
Martha, don’t get me started! The answer is - too bloody long - so if you can hold the dramatics and assist me, I’ll get out of your way, pronto!’
‘Ohhh, creepy darn thing. I know you’re not venomous but you give me the creeps. Ohh, what to do?? You’re so BIG! Oh, my God! Ray next door is away for the weekend, he could sort this out. Bugger!’
Steady on, Martha, that’s one for the swear jar!
‘Ohhh I hate this…’
Stop being such a sook! Go get the broom and I’ll hop on…
As if such a thing as telepathy existed between humankind and Arachna, Harold almost saw a lightbulb glow above Martha’s mess bun. And this lightbulb didn’t have any fly poo on it.
“I know! I’ll get the broom. Don’t move! Wait right there!”
Trust me, I’m not moving, but be quick about it eh?
Martha was on a new mission. The painting was no longer the prime focus. As she rushed to the cupboard in the laundry, kicking the basket filled with dry washing across the floor as she went, she pulled at the broom which was at the back of the long narrow cupboard behind the mop and bucket and other assorted cleaning equipment, all with long shafts or handles. Included in this disorganisation, was the vacuum cleaner with a bag of useful attachments. There was a crash as handles went this way and that, falling forward and landing on the floor like a game of Pick-up sticks.
‘Bloody hell!’
I heard that…are you going to be long?
Martha appeared in the kitchen with a soft-bristled kitchen broom. The yard broom would be too heavy and awkward for the job at hand. Despite himself and his stressful dilemma, Harold chuckled. Martha looked quite a sight with her trusty bandana on a crooked angle to its normally composed status, and holding the broom as she did, all she needed was a black peaked hat.
‘Right…” Martha had never felt so unsure.
Well, that’ll do the job nicely, just don’t squash me…
‘Okay, pal, just… don’t.. fall.. on.. me.’ she stuttered as she gingerly raised the broom handle up to Harold.
Harold saw his moment. He was expecting the broom head to be his escape route, but okay, the handle was going to work equally well. Beggers can’t be choosers. He took a big step then a leap and landed on the end of the handle. He half slid - half ran down the length, heading straight for Martha’s shaking hands.
All Martha could see was a massive Huntsman coming for her.
‘ARRGGH!’ Martha yelled, throwing the handle aside to avoid contact with Harold. The broom went one way, and Harold was flung to the other.
It was a bumpy landing as he hit the dinner table and skidded across the smooth shiny surface.
Holey crap! No brakes! Harold wished the salt and pepper set was in his path to break his slide.
Finally coming to a stop just before the tabletop edge, he righted himself and scrambled down the table leg to the sanctuary of the large, potted ‘Elephant Ears’ Begonia in the corner.
‘That went well, I wonder where he is now…’ Martha looked warily around the kitchen, hoping she would not encounter this creepy house guest again any time soon.
Harold sighed and said another little prayer of thanks for his safe return to the ground.
Be damned if I'm getting up on the ceiling again, ad what a good job the cat wasn’t playing any part in that drama. Now to find out if they saved me any lunch!
About the author
Fleur is a Kiwi living in SE Queensland. She enjoys the fun, challenge, and possibilities of short stories. She is a member of the local writer's group - The Squabbling Scribblers. For more of Fleur's work: fleursfabulousfables.wordpress.comDid you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee?. Half of what you pay goes to the author th otrht eehalf goes to expense se.g. Maintaining rhthe web site and setting up The Best of Café Lit book each year.
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