It’s slime to return?

We came downstairs the other morning to a trail of ectoplasm across the living room carpet. Halloween has been and gone. So obviously no ghostly calling card. Unmistakable evidence, I’m afraid, of a snail or slug. We shrugged it off as one of life’s vagaries. No squelching underfoot, so therefore no crisis. It’s as easy to remove a slug trail as it is a cobweb so no arduous chore at all. The next morning, however, our friend had been partying all over the sofa. Met by a wild orgiastic frenzy of twinkly slime trail we wondered how he ( bound to be a he) had scaled the heights of the sofa. Dearest’s I-pad, propped against the sofa leg had kindly supplied the slug slide for the vertical ascent. I remembered that a way of disposing of slugs in the garden is to half fill a jam jar with beer. A merry end, I’ve thought. Having no beer available I half-filled a glass with lime cordial and a splash of house white.. So long, Sluggo, I said confidently on our way to bed. Next morning, no carcass in the glass but evidently, I now had a rehydrated pissed slug on my hands judging by the frenetic activity of the night before. We haven’t come down in the early hours of the morning to catch our houseguest in the act… and I’m worried that my dearest husband is developing attachment issues. He is filled with admiration for this fellow male who despite a distinct absence of lettuce or tasty greenery is slathering around “hurting no-one…” He’s even given him a name, George… for crying out loud! No, he’s not the one clearing George’s slug trails every morning! I think a line has to be drawn. So this afternoon, I have plugged gaps in the parquet with cork and sellotaped over any other narrow apertures.. My last blog entry many years ago was to do with slugs… I feel a fine silvery thread is drawing me back in… Hello, old and new friends, I think I’m back. (I’ll keep you posted on the little fellow. And the slug.)