This morning when I got up, I noticed a millipede running around in the bathtub. Since I take my shower the night before, its presence was not a matter of urgency, just one of those "eewwwwwwwww, nasty" moments that everyone runs into occasionally.
I came home, confident that I would be able to take my shower without multi-legged company.
I was wrong. I entered the bathroom and there he was (he? she? hmmmm--no, I haven't yet discovered a way to sex a millipede from a distance, so this shall remain a mystery), rippling his seventy-squazillion legs all over the place in that shiver-inducing way.
I did what any red-blooded insectophobic human being in a house alone would do: I went downstairs and woke up White Cat. I scooped him off the sofa, carried him up the stairs, protesting ("Prrrt? brrrrrp?? mrOOWWWP???") and dropped him in the tub.
He prodded the intruder, casually, with one languorous paw; he touched his nose to its thorax, then jerked back and took another paw-swat at it....
...hopped out of the tub and walked off in search of something to eat.
Bastard.
I was left with no recourse; I turned on the shower, put the flow setting on "drown millipedes", and chased the ugly little critter (the 'pede, not the cat) around the tub with a heavy stream of water til it was motionless. I then tried to water-bomb it down the tub drain, through the little metal hair-catcher thing. That attempt was a miserable failure and I ended up using the cardboard toilet-paper tube to fish the limp, furry corpse from the top of the hair strainer, to be flushed down to the dampest, scummiest circles of multi-legged Hell.
White Cat is sitting on the sofa, looking immensely pleased with himself--as though he'd actually DONE something to resolve the problem. So much for the predatory instinct.
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