I share my terrace with a snail

I call him Waldo. The first time I saw him, I was plumping up the cushions on the rattan sofa after a storm. I lifted a damp, lumpy, floral pillow and gasped. There he sat, hidden inside his mottled brown and black shell. He seemed pretty well settled into the corner. I declined to share his space and opted for a seat on the opposite sofa. Each day for a week I ventured onto the terrace and cautiously lifted cushions to see where Waldo was hanging out. I slowly tracked his progress across the couch to the opposite corner.

I had a new appreciation for that familiar saying, “You move at a snail’s pace!” It took Waldo a week to traverse the five feet of the sofa, from one end to the other. Then, one day. No Waldo! Where is he?

I repeated my deliberate cushion checking but he seemed to be gone. I must admit I was a little relieved. Would you want to share your terrace with a snail, uncertain where he might next decide to squat?

After a few days without Waldo I was almost certain he’d left town, or at least my terrace. With a good book, and a glass of iced tea, I was ready for some rellaxation. I pulled out a chair from the table and there he was. Latched onto one of the legs of the chair, he was in crawling mode. His whole slimy little brownish body topped with two long tentacles was stretched out from under his shell. Over the next day he worked his way up the leg and across the bottom of the seat. He was making good time for a snail!

But alas, a day later, he was nowhere to be seen. I know better than to think he ditched these digs. Now, when I wander onto the terrace I just have to ask, “Where’s Waldo?”