Venture Caterpilliarists

[PlanetMom]

My kids won’t be peddling lemonade at our curbside anytime soon. Apparently there is no need. Those budding opportunists will be making money hand over fist (or so I’m told) pushing a commodity for which I had never envisioned a demand—tent caterpillars: those indescribably horrid creatures that will one day conquer the earth. One tree at a time. Beginning with my backyard.

 

Blasted gluttons.

 

When I gaze into their furry faces (and I have, at my children’s interminable requests!) I see nothing but miniature monsters, each equipped with legions of legs, a fearsome set of mandibles and an insatiable appetite for the green leafiness I so adore. A terrestrial piranha, so to speak—a loathsome entity, artfully wrapped in a warm and fuzzy little package that no child could resist. Especially not those who possess an entrepreneurial flair coupled with a weakness for all that creeps and crawls, wriggles and writhes, slithers and snakes.

 

Gak.

 

“But Mommy, caterpillars are so fuzzy and friendly—and they make perfect pets ‘cause they’re cute and cuddly and soft and ticklish. They’re quiet, too. And they don’t bite one bit. Also they’re pretty easy to take care of, they don’t make big messes with their poop and you don’t even have to walk them or anything. They’re just ADORABLE, Mom. And KISSABLE. Doncha think?”

 

Like I said before—GAK! Okay, so maybe the stupid things do qualify as low maintenance. But the gak factor—good God, it’s off the scale!

 

“We’re gonna’ collect a MILLION of those guys and keep ‘em in the garage where they’ll grow and grow until they’re big and fat. Then we’ll charge two whole dollars for each catty (as they are affectionately referred) and we’ll be rich, Mom! Really RICH!!”

 

By all accounts, we should be gazillionaires by now.

 

Our garage currently houses more of the despicable vermin in question than I care to admit—or even think about, quite frankly. The notion disgusts me—in a makes-me-wanna-hurl-profusely-into-a-big-bucket sort of way. Those smarmy, goo-filled creatures make my skin crawl—especially when I dwell on the masses of silken tents currently choking the life out of all-that-is-green-and-good on this earth, each defined as a bursting-at-the-seams vat of vileness primed for its grand and gruesome entry into the world. Blaaaaaarg!

 

Not to worry, however. Said pests have been expertly corralled (“…we promise, Mommy!”) and are neatly contained within bug boxes and the like, awaiting that oh-so-lucrative marketplace of which my visionary dandies have conceived.

 

Stinking venture caterpillarists, anyway.

 

Planet Mom: It’s where I live. Visit me there at www.notesfromplanetmom.com.

 

Copyright 2008 Melinda L. Wentzel