I've always hated centipedes. I've encountered them many times in the field, and they never fail to give me the heebie jeebies like nothing else can. They're big, they're fast, they bite, you can't tell which end is which, and they're horribly leggy (Wikipedia says they can have up to 300 legs!). I've found them in my screens while excavating, under my tent while packing up camp, and in trails while hiking. But you know what? Those are normal settings for centipedes, and by that I mean that all of those centipedes were outside. Not in my house.
Last Friday, I found this guy:
I found him in my HOUSE. BETWEEN MY COUCH CUSHIONS. How will I ever be able to enjoy watching television again? I get a shiver down my spine every time I think about it. I'm afraid to look under the cushions again to make sure he didn't have any friends. I don't think I could go through the trauma of centipede-wrangling again. He was about 4 inches long, which is definitely not the biggest centipede I've come across... but in my house?!
I was trying to clean the house a bit before a friend came over. I pulled off the couch cushion to clean away some of the dog hair, and there he was. I squealed. I ran around the room looking for a solution. The solution I came up with consisted of a huge kitchen knife, a pair of pliers, and a glass of water. Eventually the centipede ended up in the water. And then my friend Sam arrived at the front door just in time to see me holding a glass containing a drowning centipede in one hand and a huge knife in the other.
I left that damned thing in the water for a good few hours to make sure it was completely drowned. Then I ceremoniously chopped it to a million pieces in the garbage disposal. It was my only safe option.
A 19th century Tibetan poet once warned his fellow Bhuddists that "if you enjoy frightening others, you will be reborn as a centipede." Smart guy.
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