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While undertaking nightly ablutions last night, suddenly a racket arose from the bedroom. Lots of thumping kind of noises and scratches and scrambling. (Hardwood floors means you can tell where any mischief is taking place pretty easily.) Eliza had found herself a nice juicy spider to play with -- one of her favorite passtimes. Usually if a bug runs for cover under the bed, she sprints from one side of the bed to the other, waiting for the poor creature to make a break for it and run into her open paws. This spider must have been awfully tempting, though, because she went for it.
The bed is just high enough that she can crouch down and scoot herself under. Once there, she must either flip her hips (so she's sort of reclining) to turn around and come back out the same way, or keep inching toward the opposite end (which results in her repeatedly hitting her back and the top of her head on the underside of the bed). And I should mention that the bed is set diagonally in the room, so that the head of the bed and the corner of the walls forms a triangle of space. Which is where the unlucky spider decided was the free zone. And where Eliza decided she would have it cornered.
The spider did meet its untimely end at the paws of Eliza, and she clearly relished doing the deed. But a problem arose when it was time for her to make her way back out of the corner: She forgot how to get out. Without the bug to motivate her, she just didn't know what to do. So she just stood back there, occassionally sticking her nose low as if probing for the exit route.
It took much much cajoling and excited-voice "good girl"-ing to get her to this point. She can see where she's supposed to go! But still, she wouldn't do it on her own. I had to grab both paws, flip her like a calf being hog-tied, and drag her out on her side. (Guess that takes care of sweeping behind the bed!)
But clearly, no harm done. Happy as ever after a quick shake. She must have the memory equivalent of a goldfish.
