Neighbors

McLeod Ganj, India 30 November 2009

If a story that begins with a four-inch millipede on the kitchen counter at five in the morning can have a happy ending, this one did. As it was undulating and I was trying to figure out how I was going to dispatch it – first definition: to send off something, for example a letter or a package, to a particular destination – and yet not dispatch it – fourth definition: to kill a person or animal – it oozed into a hole between the counter and the splashboard that I didn’t even know was there. I ran for the poster putty. I wonder how many other holes like that there are here.

One of the first things I acquired here was a yellow towel that I promptly shaped into a cylinder and tied with the brightly-colored string that I can tug from outside to seal the gaping space under the door. I found a small mild-mannered beetle in my keyhole once, but I keep my key there when I’m at home, so I don’t envision many invasions through this orifice. But how are six-inch spiders – “Not dangerous, madame,” the hotelier assured me – getting in?