Disclaimer : Nothing belongs to me. Anything you recognize belongs to the BBC !
6.20 am. Squinting at the green numbers on my alarm clock, I figure it's okay to luxuriate a little bit in bed. Just a couple more minutes... Sensing I'm awake, Toby jumps onto the bed and starts purring contentedly. Extending a hand and petting him is no hardship, really. I must have fallen back asleep, though because the next time I look at the clock, it's 6.35 and I'm 5 minutes behind schedule.
Throw open the window, peer at the freezing darkness, try to divine the day's forecast from it.
"Cock-a-doodle-do!"
Someday, I'm going to find out who owns that damn rooster and make myself some coq-au-vin. But for now, let's muster some enthusiasm for the day to come.
Fake it till you make it! I firmly tell myself, going down the stairs to the small kitchen where Toby is already waiting for his breakfast. After attending to his needs, I can cater to mine ; tea and toast with a book is the best way to properly wake up and right the world. Unless you get lost in the plot and loose precious additional minutes, that is. Oh well. I'll just skip the make-up bit today.
The minute I'm upstairs I realize the clothes I intend to wear are downstairs. On the drying rack. Doubtlessly thoroughly dry after staying there for 3 days... Thanks to this house, I'm saving loads on a gym membership!
As I gather up my clothes I spot Toby and find myself wondering…. What's he playing with?
A worm! A freaking giant worm! INSIDE my house! In my living-room ! Not for long though if Toby succeeds in his quest to gobble it up like a piece of spaghetti.
Shaking visions of a violently vomiting cat on my bed, complete with possibly still alive worm or worm body parts, I'm rather relieved to see him abandon his new toy, already bored, and bounce upstairs.
So I tell myself… "Right... you can do this. You deal with dead bodies and dead body parts all day."
Thing is... they're dead! Not squiggly and moving and disgusting! I'm briefly assaulted with a vision of a sandworm from Dune. Fear is the mind killer. Indeed.
Just grab your clothes, get into the shower and pretend you did not see it. By the time you come back tonight, Toby will have eaten it, no doubt.
"Unless, of course, you come home and can't find it," said the evil little voice in my head. "And you'll wonder... Did Toby truly eat it? Is it hiding somewhere, ready to pounce when you'll least expect it?"
That worm is a poor defenceless creature, I can't leave it to be tormented all day, and perhaps killed, by my cat - I have a moral responsibility to set it free, back onto the earth it came from.
Oh, crap. Now I have to save it...
Running to open the front door, grabbing the outside broom that was left-over by the previous owner and mentally steeling myself for the job ahead, I'm really not prepared when...
"Good morning!" booms the voice of my next door neighbour, nearly giving me a heart attack.
Trying not to pass out on the worm, I return the greeting with a smile. I mean, who wouldn't smile back at someone coming to wish them a good day at 7.24 am? Apparently, since the light was on (Damn you motion-sensor light!) she thought it'd be okay to come and talk to me.
"Sorry I scared you ! I wondered if you still had those boxes you said you'd give me ?" the woman pipes up.
Trying to recover some composure, I tighten my dressing gown against the draft and possibly also to hide my lovely Tinkerbell pyjamas, before replying.
"Oh, sure ! They're in my car. I'll get them for you when I'm dressed, no problem. I'm just fighting with a giant worm right now, so..." I gently try to shoo her.
Fat chance. She comes closer to take a look.
"Oh my! He is very big, yes! You must not kill it, they're very good for your garden, the big ones!"
"I wasn't going to kill it. Just trying to push it outside without touching it."
"Oh, are you scared ? If you want, I can get it outside for you. I don't mind worms at all. But how did it get inside?"
"Oh, please, would you mind? Thank you. I think the cat brought it in. Unless they can climb stairs that is..." I nervously joke.
With one quick motion, the worm is safely back in its natural environment and I can breathe easier. Not to be paranoid or anything but I notice the woman did not say: "Worms can't climb stairs, it must be the cat, yes." I make a mental note to research worms' motion and climbing abilities during lunch.
By the time I finally make it out of the door, I'm pretty proud of myself for having managed to make up nearly all of my lost time.
Trying to balance all my bags while locking the door, a sharp pain in my ankle warns me I've just twisted it. Trying to assess the damage (I can walk normally but it hurts, so my medical training says I'll live) I walk to the car to unload the mercifully empty boxes and my neighbour bounces outside again. How can she be dressed and raring to go before 8 am? Maybe she's the one with the rooster... Or she's on drugs...
I give her the boxes then limp to the car and start my journey to work. Which may or may not explain why Sherlock's request that I make him a freaking power point presentation on his and John's ideal alcohol intake was not met with the clearly expected enthusiasm. Either that or I'm getting hardier, like the other country folks.