That is the sign I made after a home invasion. Yes, we were robbed of our sense of well being and our love of the house that we spent so long building. How could it happen? How could the perpetrator decide that he had the right to invade our home? We never invited him. We never hurt him or any of his kind.I gleam some small sense of justice that he died in the infiltration.
I have never been one to smile at death, but what is the loss of one tiny scorpion?
I have no problem with them on the outside of the house. They kill other unwelcome insects and our land provides a feast of those on a daily basis.
But place one tiny pincher on my shiny wood floors?
The fiery pits of hell have no wrath like a woman mindin’ her own business sweepin’ floors findin’ your crunch body inside her domain!
Of course I sounded more like a screaming crazy woman at the moment of discovery, but now…now I am decided.
Three days after the first incursion, the boys awoke to another dead scorpion in the kitchen. I soon figured out that they had probably followed the long line of ants that had marched themselves into the house. I believe this because I had sprayed the ant path the night before, and finding the dead scorpion meant that it had indeed eaten poisoned food.
Is it wrong that I smiled upon realization that he had died by my hand?
So I pulled the for sale sign and began strategic deployment of Operation Crop Duster. I sprayed every nook and cranny inside and outside the house.
But it’s not enough.
No, I must procure every defense imaginable to defend my home!
Luckily my neighbor called with an answer! She found a kitten on the side of the road, crying. When asked if we would take him? A little light bulb literally popped on over my head. A memory of the mention of outdoor cats killing scorpions in one of the thousands of online tips I had scoured filled the bubble.
Sure he only fits in the palm of my hand…
But he will grow! And I will give him hundreds of plastic scorpions to begin practicing his terminator technique. They will never hear him coming. He will be the panther of panic, the tiger of terror!
We named him Spock, ya know…for the pointy ears.
Don’t laugh! Those crafty Vulcans only look docile. Patiently waiting with hidden emotion until the right moment, then WHAM! You’ll never know what hit you until you look in the corner and see him gently wipe away what was left of your lunch from the corner of his mouth.
Yes, that tiny ball of fur that currently thinks his tail is chasing him will be the big fish in the pond of perpetrators outside our doors. And hopefully the dogs will protect him from the even bigger fish that will most certainly want him as a midnight snack…