In August, the South is one sprawling, nasty swamp slithering with every type of critter. Some I can identify effortlessly such as the giant cockroach or the sweaty man with no shirt who really should be wearing one. But the majority of the creatures socializing on my front porch I am not familiar with. Late last night, when I attempted to put a letter out by the door, a huge hovering beast flew just above me spinning around the porch light. At first, I thought it was a bat or perhaps a bird. I ducked, scampered back inside recalling Hitchcock and slammed the door behind me. The creature then settled down, resting on the rim of the porch, where I could gape at it through the window. I soon realized that this furry, flying, 6-inch-long-or-so creature was the bat-sized moth (Australopithecus Mothusus), a prehistoric omnivore that has lived on the Earth for 20,000 years dive bombing porch lights. (I was unable to obtain a shot with the beast in midair, so all I have is this one crummy photo, which belies the creature’s true immensity and wingspan.)
After this discovery, the entomologist within was awakened and I decided to explore the backyard, where I came upon other native arthropods such as the big, fat, crazy-looking, probably poisonous spider (Arachnoid Schmidous), the little green fella (Glubious Verdeious), the funky-looking beetle (Hipsterous Obnoxiousious), the pesky squirrel (Squirrlous Peskious) and the loud, screeching thing in the tree (Shutupus Insanus).