I Will Never Be an Entomologist
Last night, I went into the kitchen, sat down, looked to the side, and screamed. Any human with an instinct of self-preservation would have done so. There was a large, unknown bug hugging the cabinet. It was maybe two inches across, with a spider's legs and a strange, oval body, with jaws, and beige and brown splotches. And, as it moved and my horror increased, wings tightly folded against its abdomen. I smushed up two paper towels, picked up the bug with them, took it to the bathroom and flushed it into oblivion. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first and won't be the last. I close the door to my study every evening when I go to bed so the cats don't throw a party in there. Friday morning I opened it. Looking down to walk around the cat who was contemplating entering or not, I noticed a large spider in the door jamb. I also noticed it had been smashed. Apparently, when I closed the door the night before, I had unknowingly killed it. At least I had been spared the sight ...