A Plush Terry Cloth Death Trap

Some Serengeti dispatches to catch up on including Tree’s induction to the Rodent Killaz Posse…

As some of you may know, I earned my way into the Whitefish Bay Chapter of the Fraternal Order of Rodent Killaz last winter by taking out a squirrel using only a kitchen knife, a broom handle, some duct tape, and my cunning. My makeshift bayonet is the stuff of legend in North Milwaukee, and rest assured, we’ve had no intruders since. After this right of passage I can now associate as equals with the likes Eric the Woodchuck Chucker and Franco the Squirrelinator. Tree was always on the outside looking in; however, she has now gained full-fledged membership to this exclusive social set and all the membership benefits thereof. Allow me to share with you the harrowing tale, but let me forewarn you - this recollection is not for the faint of heart or spirit. Not since the Brady Bunch vacation to Hawaii has there been such a bone-chilling tale of horror combined with alternating feats of cowardice and courage.

The legend began on our next to last night in the Serengeti as Theresa was helping her grandma wash up for bed in their tent. As Tree pulled the towel from the towel rack, she felt as thought something were clinging to it. As she shook out the towel, a turantula about the size of Tree’s hand landed on the floor in front of them. Grandma spotted the hairy beast first, and exclaimed “OH! OH! OH!” Theresa responded in kind with a shriek audible only to select members of the wild kingdom with super sonic hearing. As grandma exclaimed “KILL IT! KILL IT! KILL IT!” Theresa composed herself as she realized that her alternatives were limited to (a) killing it herself, because grandma and Bea sure as hell weren’t going to do it, or (b) waiting it out and hoping that the tenacious monster died of natural causes. Option (a) was really the only choice, but keep in mind that Tree usually calls on me to take care of common house spiders roughly 1/100,000th the size of this one.

Tree stared that turantula right in the eyes, all ten of them, and then took the towel and cast it over the 8 legged intruder like a net. It tried in vain to free itself, but it could not escape the plush Terry Cloth deathtrap made from the finest Egyptian cotton. She then heaved herself upon the gyrating mound of terror striking with the heal first. The force of 125 lbs of philosophical fury came down on that audacious arachnoid like the wrath of God. The sound of its crunching and oozing were drowned out by Theresa’s primal warrior cry. Dizzy from the rush of adreneline, she retreated to catch her breath.

Bea came in from the front of the tent to inspect the damage. Those of you who know Bea know that she is a modern day St. Francis. She’s a lover of all of God’s creation, including mythological-like beasts such as this one, which seemed intent on consuming grandma whole. Bea explained that the turantula is not poisonous, does not bite, and does not cause harm to humans. “Bah!” Theresa said. “It was going to bite my head off.” Bea tended to the deceased with a proper burial. She wrapped the corpse of Satan’s spawn in some lilac scented facial tissue and lowered it to the bottom of the trash can where it rested in peace, but I wouldn’t doubt it of the mummified mammal came back to haunt generations of campers for years to come. Tree expressed privately to me that had it been up to her, she would have taken the remains and cast it back into the hellfire from which it was forged.

And this is how Theresa was bestowed the nickname Munaji Wa BuiBui…or as they say in the Queen’s language…”KILLER OF TURANTULAS”

More nicknames and the Serengeti Spirit awards in the dispatches to follow.