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I call him Scrappy.
I guess I should have killed — or at least removed — the brown stink bug sitting on my kitchen window sill for the past four days, but I haven’t.
For one thing, I don’t want to deal with the stink. For another, I figured he would have died on his own by now. I’m still holding onto that thought.
Scrappy is one of, I’m sure, millions of an invasive, transcontinental stink bug species that is taking over our country.
Maybe they’ll drive off the invasive Asian lady bug species that came before them. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen them hanging around my living-room window this year.
I’ve seen Scrappy’s ilk on the zinnias in my front yard, but they didn’t seem to be harming anything there, so I let them be.
I generally don’t like bugs in the house, although I’ve been known to ignore a few cave crickets in the basement.
Besides, if I leave them long enough, my cat Tim Russert generally takes care of them for me.
But Scrappy ... well, Scrappy is intriguing. He just sits in the corner of the sill over the sink all day and all night.
Unless he is provoked — and by provoked, I mean lightly touched or blown upon — he doesn’t move much. Every now and then I notice he’s facing in a different direction, but I never see the move.
He has waved an antenna in protest at me a time or two when I checked to see if there was still life in Scrappy.
Now I figure I’ll just check for signs of life on a weekly basis. Perhaps he will remain in a winter stupor there until next spring.
Like me, Scrappy seems to be the live-and-let-live type. My banging pots and pans around in the kitchen sink doesn’t seem to rattle him.
And yesterday, the big garden spider on the outside of the window was busily wrapping another bug — perhaps Scrappy’s own next-of-kin — in a spider’s version of Saran wrap, but Scrappy seemed not to notice.
I guess Scrappy will just have to be my winter science project.
For those who are keeping track, I finally rode my motorcycle home from Hamilton County. Most of it was a straight shot up Hwy. 27, although the turn up my hill from Bluff Road was tricky.
I also learned to place my gloves on the throttle, not the seat, when gassing up. I forgot to put them back on and had to go looking for them along the highway.