But It's a Dry Heat

The biggest house pest of all--The greyhound!

A study in lunacy, Kirby-style.

Saturday morning and I’m staring at dirty dishes from breakfast and inventing excuses for not washing them– “It’s against my religion; dish soap causes cancer; dishes come cleaner if food is allowed to set.”

I hear a startled yelp from the bathroom and my husband emerges from our bedroom, toothbrush in hand.

“What wrong?” I ask.

“I was bending over to spit out the toothpaste; I spit, and a centipede came out of the drain.”

This, of course, would have been the end of the story for people in full possession of their sanity. At Casa de Kirby, however, we don’t kill beneficial insects.  Centipedes, who snack on house-destroying termites, fit the definition of “beneficial.”

I hand him a plastic food container. “This should be big enough.”  I scoop an envelope off the table and follow him. Operation Centipede Rescue is on.

In our bathroom, my husband is leaning over the sink. He positions the container, trying to get the centipede to climb in and be relocated.

The centipede putters around the sink, antennae tapping, like a blind, bewildered old man.  (Centipedes don’t have much in the way of eyes; more like a little cluster of nerves that sense light.) Despite being blind, it manages to avoid the container. I try to nudge it into the container with the envelope. Success! Its front end  heads in the right direction.

Now, halfway in the container, the centipede inspects the smooth plastic surface, and then turns around and heads back down the drain.

This is where saner people would have squished it.

Instead I get the long-handle brush that I use to clean the fish aquarium.  Justin and I poke at the obstinate bug and it marches farther down the drain.

This is where saner people would have turned on the water full blast and washed it down the drain.

Instead, Justin sighs and heads out to the workshop.  He returns with a wrench.  “Get me something to catch water,” he says. A minute later and he’s removed the drain trap. (I married McGuyver.)

The fucking centipede is still in the drain, its antennae wiggling inquisitively, but not budging, not even when pushed with the brush.  This goes on for a while until Justin finally gives the drain pipe a hard whack and the obstinate bug tumbles into the plastic bucket below. Soon after, the creepy-crawly is outside (and probably none-too-happy, as it hasn’t rained in six months and centipedes like moisture).

Why bother with all this? Especially for a creature, that by my own admission, is “skin crawling up and down my back” creepy?

Well, there’s plain old karma and mercy.  Then there’s the fact that a six-inch-centipede in a drain, may have originated from said drain, and so flushing it doesn’t exactly keep it from marching right back up the drain. I’d rather not revisit its creepy face when I’m brushing my teeth.

And this was a really big centipede, at least seven inches.  With our luck, it would have clogged the drain.

Besides, squashing big bugs is nasty business.  First there’s the chitinous crack, followed by a spray of gooey ichor.  Next, there’s the splattered bug parts, legs (ugh, hate bug’s legs) and other crunchy bits to remove.

Mercy is just a lot less messy.