Bug me not
I am rather touchy about bugs. Well, that's not entirely true. I readily admit that arthropods are quite interesting, and one of my favorite exhibits at the Smithsonian's Museum of Natural History is the insect hall. I, like just about everyone else in existence, consider butterflies to be beautiful, and I have an odd fascination for ant colonies. Even when they're not as pretty as butterflies -- and I guess they're not almost by definition, because to me, the word "bug" implies that the creature is in fact not pretty (just as not all bugs are insects -- spiders, centipedes -- not all insects are bugs) -- I have no problem with bugs going about their buggy business, with two exceptions. The first exception is if I feel they are threatening me somewhat. Aggressive bees fall into this category, as do predatory spiders, ticks, mosquitoes if I can see them, and things with far too many legs heading right for me. The second exception is any bug, harmless or not, that dares to invade my living space. We surround ourselves with walls for a reason, dammit. Any bug that doesn't respect those boundaries risks getting squished, or being subjected to my girly scream. And believe me, my girly scream is pretty scary. Now that you know my official position on our exoskeletal friends, I have stories to tell.
This afternoon, I went out for a walk around one of the nearby lakes, which I often do when I have a couple of hours to spare. When I returned home and got out my keys, I was startled to see a walking stick -- you know, one of those long sticky insects, camouflaged to look like a stick, so it can hide on a...stick -- sitting on the front door. I was startled mainly by the fact that it was about eight inches from my face when I first noticed it, and by the fact that I'd never actually seen a real walking stick that wasn't part of an exhibit. This insect was somewhat plainer than the walking sticks I had seen in museums -- it was dull brown, about 4 inches long, drawn with smooth, straight lines in every segment of its body. It wasn't camouflaged too well where it was situated, as there were no other sticks or stick-like objects on the door, but as I mentally transported its image to a nearby maple, I could visualize its disappearance. I took a few steps back and watched it for a while. Apart from finding the walking stick Pretty Damn Cool, I wasn't about to open the front door while it was perched there, as it might decide to become one of the dreaded second exceptions to my bug treaty. Since it didn't move around too much, and I did in fact want to go inside after a bit, I poked around for a bit, trying to find a large stick with which I might induce it to move to a more suitable habitat. Finding no stick longer than six inches -- while I might be able to coax the walking stick only such a twig, I didn't entirely fancy the idea that it might then proceed to crawl on me -- I waited until the walking stick decided to move away from the door on its own. It continue to crawl along the side of the house, and I went inside, satisfied. I hope that thing made it to one of the trees eventually. It might not be as obviously pretty as a swallowtail butterfly, but it is neat. Hooray for neat bugs respecting my rules.
Recently, our kitchen has had a mild roach infestation. I say mild because the roaches themselves are mostly small. I'll see three or four a day, and most of them are not fully grown, perhaps a quarter inch or less in length. I know they are in fact roaches, because I've seen a few in later stages of development, and the larger ones are definitely German cockroaches. If I see a small one, I squish it, and if I see larger ones, I go for the Raid. Orkin has been here twice in the past month -- once, before we noticed the roaches on a regular basis, and once afterwards, and the roaches have not yet disappeared. They don't seem to be getting any worse, though, and despite being in the kitchen, they have stayed away from all our food, so as I wait for Orkin to come by a third time, I have sort of resigned myself to their presence. I wish I could figure out where they are coming from -- previous ant infestations have been easily traceable, since ants will form a clearly recognizable trail back to their colony, but these buggers seem to be hiding someplace we can't get at. Blech. I've taken to leaving the lights on in the kitchen at night, to dissuade them from venturing out in large numbers. I find their presence distasteful, but I can live with it.
Tonight, just before I began writing this entry, I was perusing my friends list and checking comments to one of my recent math geek posts. My computer, like the rest of my stuff, is in the basement, which has had bug problems in past years -- particularly some bizarre sort of spider that looked like it came from Mars and had a frightening tendency to jump in my direction if I approached it -- but is now vermin-free. Besides my computer, I had my usual mess at hand -- old puzzles, musical scores, a pile of change, and my omnipresent water bottle. I opened my bottle -- I always keep it closed, except when actually drinking from it or filling it up -- and took a drink, placing it back on the desk after closing the lid. A bit of motion caught my eye, and I turned to look at the bottle. A small roach, about a third of an inch long, was crawling around on the INSIDE of the bottle. And I had just taken a drink from it.
Please excuse me while I go scream like a girl.
This afternoon, I went out for a walk around one of the nearby lakes, which I often do when I have a couple of hours to spare. When I returned home and got out my keys, I was startled to see a walking stick -- you know, one of those long sticky insects, camouflaged to look like a stick, so it can hide on a...stick -- sitting on the front door. I was startled mainly by the fact that it was about eight inches from my face when I first noticed it, and by the fact that I'd never actually seen a real walking stick that wasn't part of an exhibit. This insect was somewhat plainer than the walking sticks I had seen in museums -- it was dull brown, about 4 inches long, drawn with smooth, straight lines in every segment of its body. It wasn't camouflaged too well where it was situated, as there were no other sticks or stick-like objects on the door, but as I mentally transported its image to a nearby maple, I could visualize its disappearance. I took a few steps back and watched it for a while. Apart from finding the walking stick Pretty Damn Cool, I wasn't about to open the front door while it was perched there, as it might decide to become one of the dreaded second exceptions to my bug treaty. Since it didn't move around too much, and I did in fact want to go inside after a bit, I poked around for a bit, trying to find a large stick with which I might induce it to move to a more suitable habitat. Finding no stick longer than six inches -- while I might be able to coax the walking stick only such a twig, I didn't entirely fancy the idea that it might then proceed to crawl on me -- I waited until the walking stick decided to move away from the door on its own. It continue to crawl along the side of the house, and I went inside, satisfied. I hope that thing made it to one of the trees eventually. It might not be as obviously pretty as a swallowtail butterfly, but it is neat. Hooray for neat bugs respecting my rules.
Recently, our kitchen has had a mild roach infestation. I say mild because the roaches themselves are mostly small. I'll see three or four a day, and most of them are not fully grown, perhaps a quarter inch or less in length. I know they are in fact roaches, because I've seen a few in later stages of development, and the larger ones are definitely German cockroaches. If I see a small one, I squish it, and if I see larger ones, I go for the Raid. Orkin has been here twice in the past month -- once, before we noticed the roaches on a regular basis, and once afterwards, and the roaches have not yet disappeared. They don't seem to be getting any worse, though, and despite being in the kitchen, they have stayed away from all our food, so as I wait for Orkin to come by a third time, I have sort of resigned myself to their presence. I wish I could figure out where they are coming from -- previous ant infestations have been easily traceable, since ants will form a clearly recognizable trail back to their colony, but these buggers seem to be hiding someplace we can't get at. Blech. I've taken to leaving the lights on in the kitchen at night, to dissuade them from venturing out in large numbers. I find their presence distasteful, but I can live with it.
Tonight, just before I began writing this entry, I was perusing my friends list and checking comments to one of my recent math geek posts. My computer, like the rest of my stuff, is in the basement, which has had bug problems in past years -- particularly some bizarre sort of spider that looked like it came from Mars and had a frightening tendency to jump in my direction if I approached it -- but is now vermin-free. Besides my computer, I had my usual mess at hand -- old puzzles, musical scores, a pile of change, and my omnipresent water bottle. I opened my bottle -- I always keep it closed, except when actually drinking from it or filling it up -- and took a drink, placing it back on the desk after closing the lid. A bit of motion caught my eye, and I turned to look at the bottle. A small roach, about a third of an inch long, was crawling around on the INSIDE of the bottle. And I had just taken a drink from it.
Please excuse me while I go scream like a girl.