Published: August 29, 2009 09:54 pm      

Jimmy Espy: So long, Sammy

Sammy moved in with us a few weeks ago.

I liked him right away and introduced him to my 4-year-old daughter, Rowan, who took to him immediately.

My I-Am-Not-Allowed-To-Tell-You-How-Old Wife, Alison, did not.

In fact she never warmed to Sammy, despite his quickly proving to be a well-mannered house guest. He stayed out of the way, didn’t make much noise or mess and took care of his own food needs. He never made a long distance call and didn’t invite loud friends over late at night.

Other than occasionally having to prod him out of the shower in the mornings, Sammy was just about the best house guest ever. My daughter and I talked to him and we went on the Internet to learn more about his background. We really liked Sammy.

Then he disappeared.

Without so much as a “toodle do,” he was gone. No farewell. No notes of explanation. Nothing. I was worried. My daughter was worried. My wife? Not so much. Her blasé attitude about Sammy’s abrupt departure irked me, but I was more worried about his well being than her ambivalence.

The week passed slowly. Each day we hoped Sammy would return. But, he didn’t. Rowan and I hoped for the best, that Sammy had found other friends to stay with. We were sad. My wife? Not so much.

That’s why there is some irony in the resolution of the mystery of Sammy. It was Alison who solved it.

On Thursday, she found his lifeless body on the floor of my bathroom.

She told me. I was stunned. I thought maybe she was mistaken as I charged upstairs to investigate.

But it was true. There on the floor lay little Sammy — deader than John Edwards’ political career.

There was no blood or goo.

Just a small lifeless body ... missing four of its eight legs.

Sammy the Daddy Longlegs who had crawled in my bathroom window only a few weeks earlier, and who had stayed on to charm my daughter and me (My wife? Not so much) was truly gone.

What could have happened I wondered.

Alison (who never liked Sammy) coldly suggested that maybe I had stepped on Sammy. Resisting the urge to punch her like John Wayne smacking Ward Bond, I assured her I had not. There were four legs missing from Sammy’s corpse and they were not to be found. Clearly Sammy had been killed elsewhere and dragged into my bathroom.

Maybe one of our cats had caught Sammy, Alison (who never liked Sammy) suggested.

I think not. Our cats are lovely critters, but the three of them combined didn’t have the brains to outwit Sammy.

My daughter?

No chance. She’d have to be like that kid in “The Omen” to off Sammy. She really liked him, so much so that we have kept from her word of Sammy’s demise.

I am stumped.

Who is to blame for this heinous act of Daddy Longlegs-icide?

President Obama’s death panels? Michael Vick?

We may never know, but like O.J. stalked the killers of his ex-wife, I will never rest until I know what happened to little Sammy. He may not have been a full-fledged spider, but he was the kind of opiliones a man and a little girl was proud to call friend.

My wife? Not so much.

Hmmmmm.



Jimmy Espy is executive editor of The Daily Citizen. He blogs at Espysoutpost.blogspot.com