No, not the highly acclaimed animation company, but actual living breathing creepy crawlie weta. Earlier this week, I was feeding Harper at some hour in the morning when I happened to spy a pair of antennae waving around in one of the cubby hole things running alongside the change table. Closer inspection revealed a ginormous weta having a sip of gripewater from around the lid of the bottle. I duly woke the Postie to get rid of it.
Next night, after a rather terrible day of Harper getting zero sleep but still having the energy to scream the house down, the cat woke me up scratching at something amongst the piles of stuff in the spare room. What it was scratching at? A weta. I duly woke the Postie who chased it under the spare bed.
And then last night, as I lay dozing at some hour of the morning, wondering if the noises Harper was making were going to rev up to full blown hunger, I heard a scratching noise that I thought was Charlie coming in for the night. Then the unmistakable feel of legs skittering over my bare arm, then the revelation of a weta sitting quite calmly on the pillow next to me. I duly woke the Postie, who though he didn't have his glasses on and was in the middle of a rare deep sleep, managed to scoop it up in a towel and fling it outside.
There are only two other occasions I have been in the presence of weta. One clung to my leg as I showered in my Kilbirnie flat in 1998, last seen surfing towards the plughole. The other time was just last year when I interviewed weta expert George Gibbs at his Eastbourne house where he had weta 'hotels' nailed to various trees. They creeped me out big time. I just hope our house isn't becoming a weta hotel too.