A Beetle in the Sunroom

There is little satisfaction in catching a beetle.  They are slow.  Hapless, really.  But I caught one in my sunroom—a tiny beetle—maybe half the size of a grain of rice. 

All creatures have some kind of defenses method.  Some defenses are odd.  Take, for example, goats that faint and tip-over when frightened.  And consider how some lizards will sacrifice their tail so the critically important rest of them can escape. 

The beetle I caught had a fascinating defense.  He sucked his legs up against his little body and played dead.  Naturally, I found the nearest ballpoint pen and used it to roll the little fella around on the palm of my hand as he remained inert.

Here is the really curious thing: Whether by design or not, the beetle looked just like a mouse dropping once his legs were tucked away.

That impressed me a little.  Not a lot of critters are going to scoop up and eat a pellet expelled by a mouse (me included).

After nudging at the beetle for enough time, I scooted him of onto piece paper and watched until he popped out his legs again.  “Good luck on your little beetle career,” I told him.  I then walked to my bay window and dropped the beetle into my Christmas cactus planter.

Maybe he can find something good to eat there.

Hopefully, not the cactus.

—Mitchell Hegman