I cringe at the crunching sound made by a roach as it's being squashed. I nearly suffer from spasms when I accidentally step on a ladybug or a beetle when I'm outside. I used to separate sparring ants with sticks or blades of grass when I was a kid because I didn't want the ants to fight and hurt each other. Spiders skeeve (I don't even know if that's a word) me out beyond explanation, but I go to great lengths to keep from killing them (including pretending I don't really see them, that I'm just having a "flashback").
In my early to mid-twenties I studied Buddhism for a time, and having a good grasp of karma, I don't like the idea of taking the life of another living creature, no matter how much the creature gives me the willies, lest we meet again in another life! The other day I had my boyfriend Pat kill a roach that was crawling on my living room floor because I thought I would hyperventilate. He did it, not me! I'm safe. When I visit my parents in Florida, they like to go fishing in the ocean. I break out in hives thinking about hooking a fish and being responsible for it's death, so I usually decline to fish and just stick to reading while on the boat. I'm not a vegetarian, and I love seafood, but I don't want to be the actual executioner.
It is this disdain for killing that allows the ugly gray moth in my bedroom to continue to live. He came through an open window during the night last week and he can't seem to find his way out again. I keep the window slightly cracked (enough to let the moth out, but not my less-than-brilliant cats--I don't have the screen in the window and I doubt they would land on their feet from the 2nd story window) in order to precipitate his departure but he hasn't picked up on it yet. So, for the past several nights he has parked himself on my bedroom ceiling, right above my bed. I stare at him, noticing how ugly and creepy he is and wishing he would leave. I won't kill him but he doesn't know this. His only instict is to survive and he doesn't know how long I will allow that, so he makes as few moves as possible, unable to get back outside. I don't want him to leave the ceiling and land on me, so make as few moves as possible at night so as not to startle him into flying around. The moth (I've started calling him Harry), I am sure, does not want to be in my room anymore than I want him in my room. We are at an impasse, he and I.
--Fortuitous Observer
