Finally, a week and a half since our big move, Peter and I have completely unpacked.  And by “Peter and I,” I mean “I have unpacked.” Peter is useful for putting things in high places and hanging things, but boxes?  Not his scene.  At least, his eyes don’t twitch when packed materials remained unopened, whereas I risk rupturing a cornea if pictures aren’t on the walls by day two.

Our new home is, interestingly, habitat to several members of the wild kingdom.  The first small friend we encountered is Claus the House Mouse (alternatively:  Claus the Haus Maus).  He stops by for tea and scones and conversation about the successes and failures of NAFTA.  This is good; at least I shelter civilized rodents, though his views on immigration policy are maddeningly narrow-minded.

Then there are the winged-creatures, those that zoom and dip around my house plants.  Today a dragonfly, of all things, got in to the apartment.  I filled the sink with water, thinking that would make it happy, and it did land there for quite some time.  Then it got up, flew into the bedroom, and I haven’t seen it for hours.  There is a possibility it is a spirit beast, which would mean my apartment rests on some ancient sacred site.  Spiritually speaking, this means I should at least dust more often.

Finally, there is my friend Frank.  Peter noticed Frank’s long shadow skulking along the carpet a few days ago and captured him.  I came home and Peter said, “Adrienne, look, there’s this thing I caught and I want you to hear me out about this . . .”

Then he showed me a Wikipedia article about the House Centipede, a massive, undulating creature known for eating other, more destructive insects, and also for being the most horrifying creature on earth.  Its legs are many, its charms few.  I saw it under its cup and almost screamed; everyone of its 542 legs flipped me off. 

“WHY IS THAT THING STILL IN MY HOUSE?”

“Adrienne, look, it eats termites and cockroaches . . .”

“Yes.  And bed bugs.  I read the research you had prepared for me.”

“Bed bugs!  Wow!  I didn’t know about that!  This guy’s even better than I thought!  Anyway, I was thinking we should let him go, you know, so he can eat other bad bugs.”

“We don’t have other bad bugs.”

“I know!  And with this guy, it’ll stay that way!”

So I agreed to let him go, as a sign that I have spent way too much time with Peter. 

‘KILL IT KILL IT KILL IT I CHANGED MY MIND killitkillitkillitkillitkillit . . .” I shrieked, after Peter removed the cup.  Seeing it gesticulate its way out of captivity was so not what the nice Wikipedia article made it seem. 

The centipede, or as I call it, “the carpet dragon,” was too quick for a second capture.  Though he was spotted several times later (immobile, the fool), I let him remain free.  I figured he would probably scare off the cockroaches.  I named him Frank, because how can you hate an animal named Frank?  And today I saw him again.  He nodded and continued on his merry way under the couch. 

So I’d say we’re officially settled in.  Settled in and trying not to tick off the natives.