every year about this time, when the lady bugs sense the first frost is on the way, they start trailing into my house. much like i'd imagine the wagon trains headed west. all the family members, friends, neighbors, strangers, and perhaps even the enemies eventually end up inside. and they mean to stay... at least until they die or spring rolls around.
they linger on the ceiling, in the windowsills, on the walls and take strolls across any surface they choose.
most of them die. some get batted down and swallowed by cats. some fry themselves on light bulbs. others drown in a night stand water glass. then there are those that get squashed by paw, foot. or worse: steamrolled by cat, dog or person turning in their sleep. there are those who die the long slow death, their tradmark red polka-dotted shells turning to dull rust and finally a yellowish brown.
lady bugs don't taste good when you swallow one late at night in your water glass. even if you manage to get the sucker out before you take a sip, the water still tastes sour.
edward gory should have done a book about how all the tinny lady bugs come inside our houses to die in our company.
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