The Airborne Attack Unit

With summer fading away, and the warmth going out of the air, insects have been flocking indoors to escape from the early autumn nip. My apartment has not been spared the creepy-crawly invasion: from May to mid-August, I was visited by nothing more disconcerting than a handful of bemused fruit flies, but the past fortnight has seen me beset by a deluge of uninvited guests. The toilet has become Coleoptera Central. Last week, a ladybird joined me in the shower. Two small black beetles died in the sink some time in the night, and a weevil came out of the tap when I turned on the water to wash them away.

The living room and kitchen have become a racetrack for flies. Round and round they go, lowbuzzing my head and spitting on the remnants of my dinner. As they zip by for the thousandth time, I wage chemical warfare upon them with a can of Lysol. (It has no discernible effect. Ever noticed how much a fly's head resembles a gas-mask?)

The solarium is the front line of the insect assault. This morning, I swept up a powdery drift of dead moths, half a wasp, three houseflies, and an ant. Yes, an ant, on the nineteenth floor. I'm as bewildered as the next guy.

"A noble effort," I told it, as I coaxed it into a binliner; "a noble effort, indeed, but we can't be having your sort in here. What would the neighbours think?" It tried to hide under a box, but my dustbrush was inexorable.

One little soldier escaped my clean sweep operation, an elite paratrooper in the Urban Pest Army, Light Attack Division: an angry hornet, bent upon destruction. Dodging my rolled-up newspaper adroitly, this little terrorist divebombed my head. I ducked, and he sailed overhead, entering kitchen territory.

"No! Come back here," I shouted, giving chase. We came to a standoff in the hallway. I lunged. The hornet used an advanced evasive manoeuvre. I spun. The hornet flew around my head several times in the opposite direction, making me dizzy. I slapped the wall with my newspaper, leaving a greyish smudge. As I cussed and rubbed at the mark with my sleeve, the hornet took my living room. He flew a clumsy victory lap round the ceiling, engaged my Venetian blinds briefly, then discovered a new territory for conquest--Stella's domain.

Stella, alas, was home at the time, and pounced on the hornet, which had taken an unhealthy interest in her breakfast. The hornet, apparently being of the opinion that the best defense is a good offense, stung her right on the arse.

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAGH!" went Stella, leaping high in the air. She completed several frantic circuits of her cage, screeching and bumping into everything in her path. Captain Stingalot, over there, he was still in hot pursuit, so I opened the gate and let Stella escape. She ran straight into the bathroom and jumped in the toilet, no doubt hoping to cool the fire on her heinie. She had begun to cry, sniffling and whining in a most dismal manner. I knew just how she felt: one time, I pulled on a sweater that had a hornet in the sleeve. Oh, but it burned!

I resumed my anti-aircraft operation forthwith, newspaper in hand. Crafty wee bugger was too quick for me, though. I got him back into the solarium, but for all my efforts, I could neither smash him nor shoo him back out the window. Last I saw of him, he was still there, crawling over the glass in a repulsive hornet way.

Me, I went into the bathroom to console my wounded rat. By the time I got in, she'd crawled out of the toilet, and was shivering on the floor, peeping sadly. I scooped her up gently, avoiding her rear end, and returned her to her cage.

"There, there," I said. "It could've been worse--it could've been a bee. Then, I'd have had to hold you still and poke at you till I found the stinger."

"Hooo," boo-hooed Stella.

"Here," I soothed--"have a peach. This is the last one. I was saving it for my breakfast tomorrow, but it's all yours."

"Ee?" Stella nosed at the peach, perking up a little.

"Yeah, that's right. Drown your sorrows in fruit juice. Always works for me."

Poor thing's gone to sleep now, having comforted herself with the peach, half a bagel with cream cheese, two chicken nuggets, and a leftover samosa from last night's dinner. Oh, when I catch that hornet! Stinging my rat--the cheek! (On the cheek, even.)

I'm almost looking forward to the first frost. That should take care of the exoskeletal legions.