Last week, I noted my deep affection for animals (except monkeys; monkeys creep me out; they are too much like people) – for birds and fish and even insects (except roaches and waterbugs; they are too much like . . . ).
If I had the money, I would buy a small farm and bring there all the stray creatures
that no one wants. In the meantime, I must make do with house pets (cats, dogs,
clams) and the occasional feral fauna that come to my door.
I have had one such visitor all summer. At 11 p.m. or so, I will turn on the backyard
light, and there he is. Waiting patiently on the doorstep to be fed upon kibble and bits of Entenmann’s golden loaf cake.
He has gotten quite plump, and is now larger than any of his species that I have ever seen. (The Entenmann’s might be at fault there.) Where he spends his days, I haven’t a clue.
At first I thought that, despite an obviously tiny cranium, he must be incredibly smart to find his way back to my door every night. Then I did a bit of research. Seems that all he has to do is follow the trail he left the night before.
Now, this is not exactly the cutest creature, but at least I don’t have to keep him on a leash or clean a litter box. However, he doesn’t provide much companionship either. You can’t pet it (ick!) and I have failed in my efforts to teach him to fetch, sit up or come when called.
He is a wild untamable beast. If he could move at rate faster than three inches per hour, he might even be dangerous.
As the weather cools, I fear he will be leaving. Online, I found info that most of these
creatures do not hibernate but die in autumn. However, they are all hermaphrodites (which explains why I have heard him arguing with herself about whose turn it is to take out the garbage), so all of them lay eggs, and these should hatch in spring.
Maybe come May, Bullet’s offspring will come here to feed.
That’s what I call him. Bullet. Not for his speed, of course, but because he is, after all, a slug.
— Karen Zautyk
P.S. Speaking of critters: The groundhogs that live in the park along Passaic Ave. in Kearny have been out feeding in the mornings, putting on their winter weight in preparation for hibernation, and they graze perilously close to the curb. At least one has already been squashed by a car.
