grrlTravels

On bugs, rodents and major life decisions

Recently on a BLOG I like to read there was an amusing story about a...well, we'll call it a "bug" for the sake of argument. (I would call it a gargantuan fiend with death-ray eyes, but that might be taking it a bit too far.) Now, being the kind of person who is more of a lurker than a commenter, I held my own amusing waterbug stories to myself. I have many, many stories from the days I lived in a very cheap apartment in the University City section of Philadelphia which were all basically the same:

I spot a waterbug. I am frozen with fear. The waterbug and I have a staring contest/standoff lasting approximately 3 hours in which neither of us move even an inch. Finally I am starting to cramp up from not moving for so long, and so I take the shortest path to my bed/futon/couch, jump in, turn off the lights, and pray the the bug is gone in the morning. It always was. It doesn't really merit consideration as to where.

However, the highlight story of my life was when I was lying in a real bed in another apartment and K., with a look of disgust, fear, and imminent panic said, "Don't move!" in a voice that meant DON'TMOVE and so I didn't move and he plucked a large (but unseen by me) waterbug OUT OF THE BED FROM RIGHT NEXT TO ME. Waterbugs in your actual bed, about to crawl into your actual ear, are just too mindboggling for contemplation.

Fast forward a few years and now we are not living in an apartment, but a house. Start out this morning a little sleepy but fairly happy. Notice absentmindedly that the cats are acting particularly happy with themselves, preening around the downstairs with all sorts of cat pride. Realize in the dark recesses of my tired brain that cats preening around the living room is usually not a good thing. Wonder, "What the heck is going on?" Get juice for E. and retire to the playroom for wake up time for us both. Hear K. fumbling around and then exclaiming, "Oh dear!" Leave the grusome discoveries to K.

Yes, the cats had left a nice little mouse laid out all pretty by the steps that go down into our living room. These are indoor cats, folks, therefore leading us all to the conclusion that the mouse must have been an indoor mouse as well, both in life and death. And I have to relate that this was no ordinary little cute field mouse. No, this mouse was bigger, uglier, and snarlier than any ordinary mouse has the right to be. I left the last rites, removal, and burial to K., because none of that is in my job description and he will do it, whereas I will run around the house shrieking.

However, the mouse was not the worst of our troubles with mother nature in our little cabin in the woods. Oh no, that prize goes to the bat. One fine, unusual day when K. had gotten up early and gone to work before either E. or I had arisen, I was again sleepy and stumbling down the hall to release E. from his crib when I noticed something on the floor that looked suspiciously like a dead mouse. Living with two cats, it never pays to make any assumptions about anything left on the floor, as they have many toys which for reasons unknown to me are made to look like anatomically correct mice. (Real note from cleaning help: "There's a 'real' dead mouse under the chest of drawers in your bedroom. When you move the laundry basket you'll see him." Which is the exact moment that I decided to never move the laundry basket again.)

However, for the purposes of this story, further examination revealed that the brown furry blob on the floor was a dead bat. Mass hysteria ensued (if one person can be the sole contributor to mass hysteria, and from my own point of view I definitely believe it's possible). Many calls to K. to determine what to do about the bat, and how best to get E. out of his room without actually touching or going within a five mile radius of said bat. Previously, a helpful neighbor of ours had thoughtfully explained that when bats go into your house they are usually rabid, so there was that.

All this to say that most places where you might like to live will share the land with living creatures that think that your house is as nifty a dwelling as you do. K. and I share a dream to be able to live in Hawaii one day. I have heard scary stories of the insects inhabiting paradise being as big as your fist or thigh or head or whatever, and just let me tell you, my personal approach is to take finslippy's advice about the Paper Mitt of Protection. Only mine will be made out of chain mail coupled with fireproof asbestos fabric. You can never be too careful.

Posted by grrlTravels at August 27, 2004 2:17 PM