The centipede who passed away suddenly in my kitchen sink last night was just a baby. Even at his tender age, however, he was unwelcome on my back inside my shirt, and his bite hurt. (It’s not really a bite, I know; it’s a pair of pincers injecting poison.) I’m afraid that he was one of an extended family, and I admit to sending a few of his uncles to the far side as well. They never made it to the sink.
Hawaii is home to all sorts of creatures. Most of them staked their claims long before I arrived here in 1973. But sharing one’s bedroom with a scorpion is simply unreasonable, and I am paying the rent, so I am suggesting here to all venomous insects who might be reading this that they stay very far away from my family, including the cat and the dog.
You might want to read up on what to do if you’re stung by one of these guys on vacation. (not much, really — just soap and water and three maitais) The sun is far more fearsome, of course, and jellyfish float in monthly, but somehow biting bugs get my attention more quickly.