I kill mammals

The heat is rising. The rain has at last appeared here--sometimes, and thankfully, eclipsing the heat. But with that also comes the arrival of new friends. I am talking about bugs.

I have resigned myself to the omnipresent scurrying of bugs in my little house. This does not mean that I like it, or that I have relinquished my humble abode to the myriad of ants, flying termite ants, mosquitoes, spiders and their kin. No. I keep things clean. I sprinkle about natural deterrents. And my shoe is a weapon. However, last night even tried my current resignation.

When the sun starts setting a horrible racket crescendos outside. It is some mix of the cicada sound in the Mid-West, and a mechanics workshop. I ignore it; turn up the volume on the music I'm listening to. But when the sun has finally dipped behind the horizon and my neighbors and I illuminate our walks and porches--something starts to happen. A tiny pecking sound chimes against my office windows. And then, without warning, through the open windows of my living room flies a beetle. It's a circle of brown the size of a thumbnail. I try to usher it back to the window. But it's attracted to the bright white reflecting off of the wall. Just when I decide to leave him be, I turn around and find that four of his friends have followed his lead. Now 5 beetles in your house is no big things--except when they zig zag and dart around in a frenzy--constantly bumping your legs, or even trying to burrow under where you are sitting. Ewwww. I suddenly feel like I'm in some biblical scene demonstrating the wrath of god.

So of course, I try to shoo each of them out the window; just as one flies out, two more enter. I close the windows, a grab a newspaper (more surface area with which to shoo) and begin again. But every time I coax one fellow near the door, there are two waiting outside to come in. They are drawn to my lights. Ah! I change tools. I get a cup and trap them under that--sliding a newspaper underneath--then edge my way outside to deposit them in a tree. This takes me a while. And I can only think my neighbors thought I was having some sort of fit because what came emitting from my house was a series of yelps, heavy breathing and "now....you!...get in there...!" Come to think of it, this sounds a lot like an episode of Three's Company--wherein the sounds of some innocent action is constantly mistaken for the sounds of sex. So, I guess my neighbors think I'm a really "busy" girl.

The beetles are gone. The windows are closed. It's starting to get hot in here. And a chink chink sound echoes from my windows. The beetles are ramming my house. They want in. They're an angry mob. It's unnerving, that plique plique plique sound they're making. I'm going to bed early. I can't face this.

I rise this morning. The sun is also rising. The moon takes with her the nocturnal bugs and animals. My house is quiet. At last. I stand in front of the mirror in my bathroom, pulling my curls into a ponytail--something large scurries past my peripheral. A roach. Shit. It's big. It's larger than my thumb big. I haven't seen a roach since the first month when I sprinkled boric acid all around the edges of my house. And this one....this one is the mother ship. I grab a shoe sitting nearby and hoist myself onto the toilet. I'm not in the mood for this. I just woke up for Pete's sake. I've not even had time to shake the sleep from my brain or rest the croak from my voice. So as I raise my shoe to strike, this tumbles out of my mouth without warning: "Oh god, you're like a mammal, you're so big." BAM!!!!

I kill mammals, apparently.

I'm a sexy assassin