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Making themselves at home Who Was That Ladybug I Saw You With Last Night?By Rick Horowitz
When we first saw the ladybug, we smiled. Who wouldn't? This was just a week or two ago, and there she was, a dot of butterscotch halfway up a snow-white wall at the top of the stairs. We were gentle with her. We carefully removed her from her perch and carried her downstairs in an open palm. Then we leaned out the back door and tossed her softly toward the sky and out of our lives. Or so we thought. When we saw her again the next day, we were impressed. A homing bug? We'd never heard of such a thing. But there she was, in the very same place we'd first seen her. She'd managed somehow to find her way back -- and for the moment, at least, we let her stay. Who knew that ladybugs had those kinds of instincts? There was another possibility, of course, though the thought never even crossed our minds until a few hours later, when we left the house only to find the ladybug clinging to the garage door. Wait a minute! If little Ten-Spot was still inside -- and we'd just seen her inside, hadn't we? -- then this ladybug must be: A. Following us. Or... B. Another ladybug. Option A seemed unlikely. (Creepy ladybug stalkers? Loyal ladybug pets?) More unlikely, even, than the alternative. So we went, reluctantly, for Option B -- the second-ladybug theory. And we wrestled with the implications. After all, if this outdoor ladybug was a different ladybug from our indoor ladybug, then who's to say there wasn't more than one indoor ladybug, too? Were we really so sure that the ladybug we'd seen on the upstairs wall that first night was the same ladybug we'd seen on the same wall the next day? Had we counted those spots all that carefully? We hadn't. We had simply assumed. Homing instincts? Maybe so, maybe no. Maybe we were running a ladybug time-share. Then we saw two ladybugs on the wall at the same time. And then three ladybugs on the wall at the same time. And then a half dozen. We were too lazy to walk each of them down the stairs and out of the house. So we didn't do anything. Eventually, we figured, they'd get bored and they'd leave. They got bored, and they changed their routine. They began spreading out. They folded themselves into the curtains. They strolled across the framed photographs. (I'd never realized ladybugs were into photography.) They lounged on the windowsill, the better to signal their friends on the outside: "C'mon in! Sunny room, wimpy owners." Totally wimpy owners. We've always had a soft spot for ladybugs. Is it because they eat the bad guys? We can't remember which bad guys, exactly, but we're pretty sure we read somewhere that ladybugs eat the bad guys. That's worth something, isn't it? Is it because they're cute? Some bugs look disgusting -- gross and furry, with antennae twitching and eyes bulging and -- Ladybugs don't look like that at all. Are we saying they're too pretty to die? (We aren't.) Do we really want to start down that road? (We don't.) But... Or is it because of the name? You put something called a "centipede" on our wall, we'll grab it with a tissue, scrunch the tissue into a ball and fling the whole gooey package right into the toilet. You put something called a "spider" on our wall, we'll swat it into Kingdom Come with the nearest rolled-up newspaper. But a "ladybug" -- you can't be mean to a "ladybug," can you? At the moment, we're not being mean to 27 of them -- on the walls, on the windows, on the ceiling, on the carpet. We've always had a soft spot for ladybugs. But they're starting to get on our nerves. Posted
10/17/00. Rick eats the bad guys, too! Come to "Rick's" for the very
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Rick Horowitz