Every fall the bugs begin to die. But, they prefer not to die, so they seek out warm places. Houses qualify. Cal has killed a cockroach or two. Ick. But, hey, I have absolutely no problem ending the life of a roach.
In fact, I can step on/swat most bugs without blinking. The exception is ladybugs. I really can’t kill a ladybug. Maybe it’s the “Ladybug, Ladybug Fly Away Home” nursery rhyme. After all, any bug who flies home to rescue her daughter Anne can’t be all bad. Or maybe their appeal is their cute little spots and shiny red hard wings that reminds me of a elementary school drawing. The problem is that the bugs aren’t drawings. They’re real bugs, and they’re invading my house, and I can’t bring myself to slaughter their cheerful little bodies.
A friend of mine sprayed the ladybugs invading her home with a mild pesticide. They died. But they didn’t die quickly or normally. Instead they walked in a death spiral and left bug goo with their every step. So her ceiling was covered with swirls of bug scum. I really don’t feel like cleaning bug gunk from my ten foot ceilings. Eventually, the bugs will die and then I can vacuum them up. In the meantime, I’m trying to pretend they’re happy bugs and that is doesn’t bother me a lot when the fly across the room. I hope they die soon, really soon…because they’re not cute anymore.