I've been unpleasant lately and a large part is due to the oppressive weather. The heat and humidity are more characteristic of the southernishness of my youth. New England is unaccustomed to multiple days in excess of 90°F — let along nuzzling up to 100°F. And it's sticky. The window air conditioners work great except that the rooms become stale and noisy. I know it could be worse because I've opened the drywall hatch to the attic a couple of times and the blast of hot air is powerful. Good to know the ceiling insulation is doing its work.
Last night, I'm trying to do some work before going to bed. I'm tired of the purr of the air conditioner but I have yet to become sleepy. But irritable I was — and then a fly shows up in my office. Of course, it loves the only light sources which include the desk lamp and the computer monitor. It is a sizable fly but quick. I covered my just-poured Guinness with a camping catalog and tried to knock it down and out with a flyswatter. Yes, a disaster in the making: glass, books, suds, electronics — I showed some reserve. But had no luck. The killer in me wanted this thing dead and I needed to know it was no longer living anywhere in my house. Yes, this insecticidal rage is more common than we might want to believe.
Cleverly, I turned on another lamp that had a very alluring incandescent bulb. In moments, the fly alighted on the stem of the lamp — and I whomped it with the fly swatter. It wasn't a smash job but more of a "set to stun" attack. Curious, I scooped it up with the swatter (not about to touch the bastard!) and inspected with a handy-dandy magnifier. It was iridescent green with big eyes. Not a standard housefly as far as I could tell. But then i's legs twitched and there was a sudden transition in form from three- to two-dimensions. Totally dead.
Turns out there are several online resources available for identifying insects. I went forward using my memory rather than searching for a "flattened fauna" field guide for bugs. In very short order (sorry: bad biology joke there) I discovered that my invading insect was a blowfly. Pretty? Perhaps. But why was it flying around upstairs at night? Gulp. Killer confession. It was because of me.
Last year, I swore I heard little paws scampering in the attic. Even though my well-rested companion claimed it was the sound of the ceiling fan, I would not be deterred. I bought a pair of standard mousetraps at the hardware store, baited one with peanut butter, and placed in in the attic. And forgot about it. Then, sometime in winter, I checked (no oven blast of hot air by then) — and the trap was upside down. I flipped it over to reveal the mouse corpse. Who knows how long it had been there. Long enough to leave a body oil corpse stain on the beam.
This spring, I thought I was hearing little claws running above and re-set the trap. A couple of nights later, there was some weird snapping and bumping above — but I was half-awake and brushed it off. When I checked the next day, the trap ... was gone! There were little poop pellets. But the trap must have been carried away. And because the house's original pitched and shingled roof still shows in the attic, I surmised that the unfortunate rodent got trapped, flopped away, and fell into a deep recess of the walls. I could not see it. For good measure, I set the second trap (this time on a larger piece of old drywall) and caught a mouse and disposed of it they way one is supposed to — unlike it's poor kindred whose skeleton will be discovered decades from now. Except for the fly.
Turns out the blowfly is infamous for finding carrion. It can detect the smell of a carcass from several miles away. Was my late night visitor looking for the mouse in the house? Or was this the offspring from the eggs laid in the body several weeks ago? What have I begun and when (or how) will it end? Good luck with your bug invaders!
