Shiver. Each family member has taken on a fauna-nemesis so to speak. Mine, I'll admit, has followed me for years already (and is considered an intruder as it is not native to the island).
(Jesse: Nina is welcome, you'll find out why in Josh's paragraph.)
A number of stray cats are roaming the neighborhood, scaring small children, watching you from the tin rooftops. Get that image of a fluffy kitten that your grandma forwarded you this morning out of your head. These cats are a whole different animal. They've deprived me of sleep and are the cause of the persistent knot in my left shoulder. I may need counseling.
Cat on a hot tin roof is here. And in heat. The sounds those cats are making has my skin crawling. One in particular calls out for a mate like its dying a slow, painful death. Every third-or-so call sounds like an orphaned child in a war zone. Its creepy.
I intend to forget most of this ever happened within a matter of weeks, so I'm stopping here.
Yes, moths. The kid cracks me up. I suggested he draw one so he would better acquaint himself with their truly docile nature. "Ewww! I'm not gonna draw that. That's disgusting. I can't have that in my notebook," was his immediate response. With creatures here that can do serious damage to your nervous system, the ones that push his scream-button and have him running in circles are the moths. To be fair, they have four-inch wing spans and can look like bats when swooping at your head. Four different rooms in the Baha'i Center are home to these giants. Max walks carefully through the Center, his eyes to the ceiling, watching them as if any moment they could attack.
The child is sweet. And covered in red welts from the buffet homegirl has offered these awful-nasties. Josh has taken to drenching each of us in repellent every morning and yet, to no avail for little Zorichka. (Lorine, I'm going to need your handbook of tips!) "Mama, this one really hurts!" she'll tell me. Poor thing. Her Mama needs to step it up somehow. Garlic smoothies in the morning?
The cats, apparently, have been too busy gettin' it on to notice. We have about 823 roommates all named Templeton. Every morning we find their remnants. Crap.
Each night, right about bedtime, we hear them, shuffling, squeaking, sniffing around--above our heads. Josh, master of cleanliness, takes their nightly escapades as a personal attack on his clean mission. And the nightly party they start in the ceiling is just a reminder of the bitter battle (luckily, no butter is involved). I know Josh is mustering all his strength to refrain from dousing the second-story of the Center in gasoline and lighting a match. Its painful to watch.
I'm sure there are a great many wonderful creatures on the island as well. They're just tough to find in the city. Zora is slowly making alliances with the ones that eat mosquitoes. She befriended one just the other day as she sat on the pot. My little multi-tasker.