Insect Report from the Field

Even though I am on vacation in Pennsylvania this week to avoid the craziness-that-never-was of the DNC, I just cannot resist posting in the blog. Especially since I have news of a new insect-type-pet.

This morning, after a coffee run to Wawa, I was relaxing on the deck with my parents, my sister-in-law, and her cat, Chloe. It was then that Jenn (my sis... keep up) noticed something perched in a corner of the deck. We drew nearer. My parents and I were moderately excited (we are from New England, after all, and have only heard about the "invasion") to discover a cicada. Yes, a treehopper. A Magicicada of the Order Hemiptera, even. The famed bug of the 17-year locust invasion of the Mid-Atlantic region. (Can you tell I've done my research?) We watched with interest as it emerged from its casing-like skin and relaxed on the step for a few hours.

As I sat there on the step, sipping my Wawa English Toffee Cappuccino (there are no words good enough to describe its goodness), I noticed the cicada crab-walking toward me. "He likes you!" my dad exclaimed. Perhaps the little leafhopper could sense that I had recently made pets out of ants. Neither of us seemed to mind that my insect pets of yore had all met the same fiery fate. Throwing caution to the wind, I named him Lars. Lars soon thought it would be fun to perform a tribal dance on the side of my Fruit 2 O bottle, but the condensation on the sides proved to be too much for his little feet, and he gave up.

We sat together and chilled for a while - Lars staring at me with those beedy eyes, and me trying to appear friendly and non-threatening without inadvertantly offering my face to him as a perch. That might have led to a very scarring situation.

Suddenly, a black panther approached, a growl rising in its throat. Lars and I turned to meet our foe. Alas, it was only Chloe. But Chloe had that look in her eyes that said, "A Lars-burger might taste yummy right about now." Taking my own life firmly in my hands, I bravely shooed the cat away. When I returned, I noticed Lars scaling the back of a plastic patio chair. I knew in my heart that he was looking for a take-off place, and that it was time for my friend to fly free and wild.

As I stood in the dewy grass, Lars spread his clear wings and soared into the muggy breeze. He flew towards me, tipped those wings in thanks for being his chum and saving him from a certain fate inside a cat's belly, and glided majestically up into the branches of a nearby oak tree. "Fly, Lars! Fly!" I cried. At last I was able to watch an insect pet return to the wild without following in the ant-shaped footsteps of Sven. And as I type, serenaded by the hum of hundreds of cicadas outside in the woods, I hope that someday, 17 years from now, I may chance to meet Lars Jr....