People ask me how I think up weird things to photograph.
Most of the time, they just land right in my lap.
Occasionally they sneak up and hang mysteriously to the smooth side of my mug.
This photo op took place last September. I was having mid-afternoon refreshments on the north porch with my Mom and almost had a grasshopper instead. Now, I’m as adventurous an eater as the next gal, but sipping live insects isn’t my cup of tea.
How do they do that? Do they have suction cups on the bottom of those tiny paws? (This would explain the finale of “OVO,” at any rate.)
I invited him to dismount. (I figured it was a “him”: no eyelashes, hella muscular thighs, and a cocky disposition.) After a pause just long enough to let me know who the head locust was in this negotiation, he complied.
He was border-line cute, in a bug-eyed sort of way, so I got a little closer. Did those knees bend backward? Were they knees at all? Is that how chicken drumsticks work?
I don’t know what was scrutinizing me and my big fat camera lens more closely: those strangely matte eyeballs or the non-stop waggle of the antennae. I got closer.
Wow… was that just one big eyeball, or a bunch of tiny ones, like they showed on “The Fly”?
On the basis of our growing intimacy, I let it crawl on to my hand so I could have an even closer look.
That’s when he scrutinized me with his chompers.
He scrutinized me good and hard.
Was it a bite? A pinch? Can he flick with those things?
In any case, I know one thing for sure: the next time he shows up on my tea cup, I’m gonna bite first and ask my questions later.