Pets and pests

Strange encounters of the apartment dweller seldom go beyond what country folk take for granted.

And yet, they are strange and in savoring that, I am surprised at my reactions.

The crazy man mowed the grass last week.  Zipping to and fro with cartoonish madness, his headphones sitting snugly on his head, he spewed grass, in uneven chunks, all around him; careless of the havoc he wreaked on patio furniture and oblivious to the danger he placed the local wild life in.

I went out to sweep the debris off my patio and discovered a very large bug sitting under my chair.  He was brown, about two inches long, with six legs and I believe he was a leaf hopper.  Anyone who knows me, knows I am not overly fond of bugs, but I gently swept him back into the grass.

The next day he reappeared, obviously seeking shade in the little strip under the cast iron railing.  I watched him through the window and left him alone.  After all, if I am not using the patio, I don't mind sharing with some things, especially if they observe a few boundaries like staying off my furniture and not building webs over my door. (Plus I wasn't going out.)

Last night he came back and I was beginning to think Mother nature had given me a rather strange little pet.  I was surprised that I found myself looking out at him often, watching how he moved his legs, wondering what he ate, etc.

Later it began to storm and he scuttled under the same railing he had found shelter in from the sun.  I actually considered going out and trying to scoop him up in a jar to keep him safe from that deluge, but I didn't.

This morning I found him belly up, all his little legs drawn up close and realized that his life is over.  I know nothing about the life span of leaf hoppers, or even if that was what he really was, but whatever he was, our life forms intersected for almost a week and I find myself sort of missing him.