The bats are amusing. They flit awkwardly around in the rafters while Chuck and I scramble to turn off the ceiling fan. Once or twice I have heard the tell-tale thunk that means a bat has bought it. I found one in the bathtub, not long after we moved in - bludgeoned in flight. I like bats! They're cute! And they eat bugs. I feel bad about the fan; but Chuck tells me it is worse when they survive the fan and decide to hang around for a few days. They like to roost in the peak of the roof, right over the bed. I woke up a few weeks ago to a little droplet landing on my face. Bat pee. SO glad I did not have my mouth open... Anyway, I think that if the bats are going to live in here, they ought to earn their keep. Why not eat all these moths? Especially this little bastard who keeps dive-bombing my fingers.
Two nights ago, we had a beetle. By American standards, this was a substantial beetle: as long as my finger. Capable of loud buzzing while in flight, and freaky hissing if he got flipped on his back. You know the scene in Harry Potter IV, when Mad Eye Moody demonstrates the Cruciatus Curse? Just like that. I named the beetle Harold, and Chuck and I played with him for a few minutes before he wandered off on his beetle business. Which was, I soon discovered, to terrify children. After a few minutes, I heard excitement from downstairs and Sara ran up to report the biggest beetle she has EVER! SEEN! (She needs to live in Australia for a little while. All the bugs are bigger in Australia.)
"Harold! Where are you, Baby?"
"HAROLD?!? You call that thing HAROLD?"
"Yeah, he's my friend!" I made a production of scooping him up in a piece of newspaper and talking to him in googey-talk. "My Pwecious Pet!"
The kids were both dancing with disgust.
"What are you going to do with him!?!"
"Make a brooch out of him." Everyone looked at me, confused. Even Chuck.
"Sure. Haven't you guys seen those brooches made from live beetles?"
Chuck said, "You're bullshitting me!"
Here you go, Honey!
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