My mother always captured bugs and took them outside when I was growing up, which is admirable. But now that I run my own house, I pursue a scorched-earth policy with the insects, if for no other reason that I cannot stand to get close enough to them to catch them. (Sorry, Mom!) I tend toward smushing, while Mister Husband leans toward hosing them down with some ammonia-based cleaning product. (Works well, less toxic than bug spray.)

So there's usually nothing multi-legged in the house, or if there is its stay is rather short. But now... now is the time of the year when the ladybugs want to get warm. There are three living by the warmth of Mister Husband’s lamp in the living room, and three clustered around a window in our bedroom. I am opposed to their being in my space on general principle, but it’s not like they’re hurting anything. And I cannot kill a ladybug, since they’re good luck.

So I guess we’ll just learn to get along for the time being. Le sigh. At least they’ll probably let me make portraits of them.