Kindness to Animals . . . and Lack Thereof . . .

Posted by VERITAS
About to start reading Jonathan Safran Foer’s “Eating Animals” which I’m assuming espouses, among other things, kindness to animals, but I couldn’t be kind at all, last night or this morning, to any pinworms who may have been laying their eggs at / near the entrance to my anus, assuming the activities of these mini beasts – sorry but I can’t help thinking of them in such pejorative terms – were the cause of the infernal itching I was experiencing.  So both times, I didn’t attempt to practice tolerance and do nothing; went straight to the bathroom and laid into them with hypoallergenic wet tissue wipes, quadruple folded so as to minimize any chances of the eggs penetrating the wipes and getting onto my fingers, under my nails, thoroughly washing, with soap, and applying an ethanol spray disinfectant to my fingers / hands each time.  And it worked – the itching immediately ceased!

I’ve also, on previous occasions, offed cockroaches (tagged “CRs” on this site), ants, and a quite large, poisonous-looking (I didn’t want to wait around to risk leaving it be on the chance that it might not be)  spider who’ve made their way into my premises, although I have instituted a “capture-and-release” protocol, in which I attempt to capture CRs and suspect spiders and release them into the “wild” – a patch of shrubs and other plants bordering a nearby apartment building, though ants (the ones I’ve encountered in my digs are quite small) and, much more so, pinworms, due to their size can’t be dealt with through this protocol and so remain subject to such immediate nixing, so I’m certainly no saint in this regard.  Of course, I realize I should attempt to take care of my body and my apartment in ways that will minimize the possibility of such animals making any appearance at all in these venues.

CR Rehab Update

Posted by VERITAS
The CR I was trying to rehab — or, to be more precise, whose injuries I was hoping, by not, for one thing, going ahead and killing it; by providing it with some food and water, would heal — died.

I gave it my traditional, when I’m dealing with dead CRs, burial at sea — i.e., toilet flush; preferable, in my view, to tossing the carcass in the garbage bin — and resolved to do better.

Did it not get enough oxygen inside the plastic box overnight? Perhaps but I don’t think so — the box was relatively large and not, I think, without its top and turned upside down on the floor, airtight; so I think the cause of death was simply its initial injuries. Still, perhaps next time I will use a toothpick of similarly-sized object to prop part of the box’s bottom edge off the floor just a sliver.
Treatment protocols can be improved, though I realize I shouldn’t be too hard on myself here as CR injury treatment is, to my knowledge, a largely unexplored field.

And, of course, I resolve to be more careful in my capturing methods — to strive for greater certainty that I can avoid similar incidents in the future.

Of course some might ask, why try to capture CRs at all? Why not just let them run free? To that I would, more than anything else perhaps, wish to make the person so suggesting aware of the situation some two years ago, when CRs were running rampant about my place in veritable hordes. At that time my policy was to kill on sight — wham wham wham wham! went my the folded of my university’s alumni magazine, which I kept on top of the shoe cabinet by my entrance door, when returning to my abode on many a night and turning on the light.
Finally, upon commencing a relationship with a decidedly carnal component, I could think of no other course of action — for moving would have been too expensive and time-consuming given my then budgetary and time constraints — than to use a CR bomb, which effectively wiped them out. So now that their numbers are much more manageable — just two or three sightings, if any, per night, max — I wish to keep it that way through my capture and relocation program, and if an occasional CR gets smushed in the process, it’s a price I’ll have to accept.

CR Rehab

Posted by VERITAS
Returning to my apartment, I spot two CRs in my main room; they try to scurry away but with my futon stood up on its end and leaned against the wall (as I started doing after returning from three and a half weeks in the States to find mold, fungus, mildew, or two or three of these in combination growing on the underside of my previous futon, so humid is the baseline environment of my apartment, which I’d left to lie on the floor during my trip) the CRs had a lot of open floor to traverse, allowing me to easily “box” one — that is, place a plastic box over it, which, after sliding a plastic sheet, then a cardboard express mail envelope, then one hard side of a ring binder under the box, allowed me to relocate it to the shrubbery bordering a nearby apartment building — the nearest greenery available.

But with the other CR I was, through not intentionally, just a tad slow, inaccurate, or both with the box so that one of the box’s edges came down on it, causing it substantial injury, smushing part of its lower back area to some significant degree but severing nothing. So, feeling remorse, though the boxing method is the only effective way I’ve found of providing a chance of CRs being caught alive, I don’t take this one to the nearby shrubbery, instead keep it under a box, which I leave in a floorspace below my portable kitchen counter to which I’ve added a small splash of water and and a sprinkling of vegan nutritional powder, hoping it can recuperate before I take it outside.

Of course, I know I could simply not pursue them at all, but a part of me still stiffens at the thought of allowing their presence in my abode to go unchallenged.

Karmic CR

Posted by VERITAS
Thanks, I’m guessing, to that blasted CR I mistakenly offed (as in off-with-its-head-ed, only by mistake), I threw out my lower back … or worse; i.e., not just the muscles but, according to an x-ray I had taken, the spinal alignment, at least assuming that when I quickly moved the refrigerator in order to get at the CR, that that’s when the alignment got thrown off, and I did, in fact, feel something at the time, when I was tugging and pulling on the refrigerator to move it as quickly as possible, feeling angry at and predatory towards the CR as I did so.

So highly karmic!

Spooky Action . . . Monk Wannabe

Posted by VERITAS
Nailed another CR (cockroach) … by mistake.

You see, I meant to capture it with the plastic container I use for such purposes, placing the container over wherever the CR, whether stationary or moving, happens to be on the floor, then sliding, first a thin, plastic pamphlet cover under the container, then a sturdier piece of cardboard under the cover so that I can then lift the container with its captured CR from the floor without risk of losing it, take it outside, and then free it under some nearby shrubbery that borders a nearby apartment building.

Only thing was, this time things didn’t work out as planned, for you see, the CR was running so fast — or I was so slow — that when I brought the plastic container down over it, it outran the space inside where the container’s sides came down. Specifically, it outran this space to the extent of its head, the result being that its head was severed from its body by the edge of the container. A container guillotine if you will.

I felt quite bummed about this, and was about to look for whatever it was I could use — a junk mail pamphlet or whatever — to smash head and body both in order to put the CR out of its misery, when something quite spooky happened: the CR’s severed head spun 180 degrees to face in the direction of the rest of its body, which was just inside the upside down plastic box.

I didn’t realize a CR’s head had any muscles that would allow the head to accomplish such a movement. … And, if the head in fact doesn’t have any such muscles, then how was the movement accomplished. Was it some sort of “spooky action,” to borrow from Einstein’s view of quantum physics, that allowed this movement — some sort of alignment of quantum spin between atoms in the head and atoms in the rest of the body, or, at least, some something equally mysterious and metaphorically similar?

In a different, imagined life, I am a monk doing perpetual penance for my sins in this life. A monk contentedly sweeping the floor of a temple that is, blessedly, CR-free …