Stropper's bedroom. Very hot day. All windows wide open.
Discovery and attempted removal of minute but still wriggling tick from Stropper's upper thigh. Unpleasant.
Outcry of glass-shattering proportions. Blood-curdling high decibel wails of, "I want to keep it. No take it off. Nooooooo don't touch it. No take it ooofffff"
Slightly confused as to Stropper's needs at this moment.
Initial empathy and feelings of humanity towards Stropper's situation. Ticks are the Insects of the Devil. Minor decrease in compassion levels after 45 minutes of unfathomable requests punctuated by hick/snort warthog type noises. Lengthy inappropriate persuasive techniques ("Let us remove the tick sweetheart and we'll buy you a rabbit/dog/horse/two horses/car/house!") a failure. Good thing.
Stropper continues making warthog-in-labour noises.
Decision to adopt "tough love" technique. More hands required. Reluctant husband recruited to hold down screaming Stropper. Swift removal and destruction of Insect of the Devil. Successful and painless but nevertheless pretty gruesome.
Immediate cessation of blood curdling screams followed by,
"Oh that didn't hurt at all. Can I keep it as a pet? What do they eat?"
"Oh, can we flush it down the toilet then?"
Dismay Factor Percentage:
Potentially 0. Not quite 100% as no visit from the police as feared.
Thankful for small mercies.