I keep saying I’m done writing about buggy things for a while and will address something more scientifically pressing, but here we go again.
Because periodically in the summer, a house centipede rears its skittering self, scooting out from under the fridge or appearing out of nowhere on the bathroom wall.
I profess to love all creatures. I truly like snakes and sharks. I’ve learned to love spiders and will happily let them stay put where I find them indoors. There’s one living in my shower right now named Smithers who has heard all my secrets and shared a few of his/her own.
Not these sci-fi freaks. The way they move. All those legs. Can’t tell if they’re coming or going until it’s too late. Ewww. Thank god they don’t fly. They’re almost as bad as those dumb hunchback crickets that leap on you when trying to escape. (Okay, I guess there is more than one critter I’d be happy to see expelled from the Earth.)
Apparently, it’s not just me: Evolution has deemed things that scuttle on many legs and are the color of puke as disgusting to us. That ewwww response (other mammals even make the same face) helps protect us from things that bite or wear a poison coat or shoot venom. For the record, house centipedes are venomous, but only dangerous to their prey—though I guess someone allergic to buggy things might have a reaction to one.
But I need to get over it in this instance, because it’s just silly. It’s just a ‘pede. And I’m trying. I’m on a centipede empathy journey. When I spot one, I name it as I would a spider pal. (Gus, Dude, and Legs McGee have all been used.) I crouch down and talk to it: “Hey there! How’s the family? Any plans for summer travel? Might I suggest my neighbor’s basement?” I peer closer to really get a load of the thing. I look for something to like. The legs at the rear are longer than the others, I’ve noticed, which is apparently to help keep the “stringy” legs from getting tangled while the thing scurries at something like 16 inches per second (OMG, THIS ISN’T HELPING). There ARE pairs of spots running along the body and dozens of “pretty” stripes around its [many, many] legs, so that’s something, I suppose.
It’s not enough, though, to keep me from squashing the f’ing monster with my shoe.
I’m a work in progress
Just, um, don’t read about the centipedes in Japan. Trust me.