I almost hesitate to write this since I don’t want to jinx myself, but my apartment has surprisingly little going on in the way of insect life. The occasional fly makes its way in and then is promptly dispatched by my stellar bug-hunter, Miss Posy Fern.
Does she look like a killer? No? That’s part of her strategy.
I tend to get divebombed by one or two mosquitoes per summer, but that is pretty much it. No ants, no spiders, and nothing remotely roach-like. (Again, knock on wood!)
In actuality, I suspect that the lack of bug-life in my apartment is due to the fact that I cohabit with a multi-legged monster. And I’m not talking about my dog or cats this time. There is a centipede-ish kind of thing that will appear on my wall about 4 times per year. And when he appears, I do absolutely nothing, because this “centipede” is the size of a Chihuahua. No joke. It is way too big to kill. It is so large I feel one of these days the city is going to fine me for not giving it a collar with a license. It’s got to be at least half a foot long with uncountable amounts of legs and feet. And it is FAST. But I rarely see the beast. He makes an appearance a few times a year, and once he leaves I’m never quite sure he was even there. He’s like the loch ness monster: let’s call him the apt spruce monster. I don’t know where he comes from or where he goes to, and I don’t want to know. But I have a hunch that anything remotely insect-like that comes anywhere near my abode is soon a fine haggis in the belly of Apt Sprucie.
This, however, is all a digression. I was just thinking about insects, because I was wondering how a wee bug would feel if they climbed up Mount Bedspread and found themselves face to face with this:
And if it was a bug who could fly, say, it might make a hasty getaway, only looking back once in horror to see the sight from a different perspective:
It is no wonder that almost nary a spider or insect is making its way hither.