Inspired by the critter that terrorized me last summer, as excerpted from my journal: August 26, 2005 Once upon a Thursday night... I was sitting at my computer, productively passing the time with a game of solitaire. It was a lovely evening, the windows open to the fresh, cool air and the summer sounds of crickets and cicadas, possibly frogs, definitely a motorcycle doing 80 in a 25 zone. (I'm certain that I did not hear any ducks, which will be relevant later in the tale.) After a bit, the voice of one of the night time critters grew noticeably louder. Click, click, click, bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, thunk. And so on. From the living room piped a small, frightened voice, "Mom, what the H is that noise?" "Oh, just one of the critters outside, not to worry." "I heard the same noise coming from the couch the other day." "That's wonderful to know honey. Thank you." So, I did what any curious, responsible adult would do: continued on to my 42nd hand of solitaire. It was going well, I had just unearthed the ace of spades- virtually guaranteeing a victory- when the owner of the click-click voice scored a victory of its own. Having found its way through the labyrinth of off-kilter window panes, it whooped triumphantly and began it's ritual victory flight. From the human perspective it went something like this: A flying object, roughly the size of a mallard, swooped down from the vicinity of the window, combed my hair, careened upward, hit the wall- THUNK- and landed-THUD-in the corner. From the critter perspective (in an Australian accent): "I had just begun my flight, combed the hair of my hostess as is our custom, when things began to go wrong. Disoriented by the screeching of the human, the likes of which I have never heard, my flight path took me directly into the wall at full speed. Darkness..." August 27, 2005 Spotted it on the window by the front door. Shaking like crazy, managed to gently capture it and release it on the front porch. It flew to the tree, where a bird swooped in and CHOMP, flew off with it in its mouth. Now i feel guilty. (I have to admit that from my disproportionate fear of insects stem deep feelings of shame and inadequacy)