Look at it. Look at my rug.
It lures you in with its inviting softness underfoot and its bright cheerful colours, looking so unassuming and .......rug like.
You wouldn't imagine that such a striped beauty was a heartless savage with a taste for human flesh.
Oh, how many times my clan have fallen prey to its brutality. Just minding our own business, sauntering past, and then.....KABAM!
It latches on with razor teeth and talons and trips you up, leaving you quivering, bruised, sore and yes, even bleeding.
And that's just the physical wounds we all bear. We also carry with us psychological scars of shame, embarrassment and fear that may never ever leave us. And there are no support groups for our situation. Oh no. I've looked.
So now we warily edge past the rug, holding our breath and preparing ourselves for the moment it pounces. But then sometimes it doesn't attack.It just plays with our minds and breaks down our fragile mental state even further.
If it wasn't so freakin' pretty and didn't lift the room with all of its technicolour glory I'd be willing to ship it back to the wilds of Africa and let it roam free once more, confident in the knowledge that it would harm no more of my clan again.
But I cant send it away.
I just cant do it.
So we throw the rug a chunk of raw meat every now and again to appease its wicked appetite and we pray and we hope to live one day in harmony with our rug.
Is there anyone else out there that lives in fear of normally ordinary household decor items?
Please tell me the we are not the only ones!