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The killer tree-cricket of Kos
Aug. 25th, 2008 02:55 pmThe indigenous wildlife of Kos has its perks. Many parts of it overlap with other Western-European fauna, for example the skinny streetcats that beg at the table, or the numerous butterflies that swirl around the flowers and shrubs.
As much as the fauna overlaps, it is still very different from what we get at home. Cats are well-fed, and those who prowl the streets are hardly hungry enough to beg for tablescraps at restaurants anyway. They usually find humans are beneath them, and if they deign to let you touch them it is a good day. Butterflies hardly exist in Rotterdam, though in the countryside, I am told, they still do.
Arrival at Kos brought us a small apartment on the ground floor of the building. Grey and red featured largely in the colour scheme – or they had, a long time ago.The kitchen cabinets were grey and red. The outside door was red in a red frame. The interior doors were grey in a red frame, the windows were red, and even the dreaded bathroom had a grey and red colour scheme. For a country whose pipes are too small to allow toilet paper to pass through, grey and red might be a good colour scheme, though it is pushing the line.
However, nothing could make us feel less at home then the sound of crickets outside the window. The soft chirping of a cricket is heard here daily, and I remember writing two years ago that I wrote that there were crickets everywhere, as well as a dog I named Barking Thrice.
This morning we went into Kos city proper and there we ran into another indigenous species. Though it is nigh impossible to see, the sound the killer tree-cricket makes will distinguish it from his far smaller cousin who only chirps at night. The killer tree-cricket sounds more like a crossbreed between a cricket and a monkey. The darned beast is impossible to spot too, although his song is so loud one can easily locate the tree the killer tree-cricket is located in. Despite its awesome camouflage and the fact I have yet to see one with my own eyes, I have already determined that the killer tree-cricket is a monkey-like homunculus with six cricket-like legs. In these appendages it clings to the shell and saw that produce the sound when rubbed together. The saw is possibly very rusty, and also used as a last means of defense.
Should we never be heard from again, rest assured that the killer tree-cricket perished with us, as it is probably not immune to the huge quantities of tzaziki I have already consumed during our stay here.
As much as the fauna overlaps, it is still very different from what we get at home. Cats are well-fed, and those who prowl the streets are hardly hungry enough to beg for tablescraps at restaurants anyway. They usually find humans are beneath them, and if they deign to let you touch them it is a good day. Butterflies hardly exist in Rotterdam, though in the countryside, I am told, they still do.
Arrival at Kos brought us a small apartment on the ground floor of the building. Grey and red featured largely in the colour scheme – or they had, a long time ago.The kitchen cabinets were grey and red. The outside door was red in a red frame. The interior doors were grey in a red frame, the windows were red, and even the dreaded bathroom had a grey and red colour scheme. For a country whose pipes are too small to allow toilet paper to pass through, grey and red might be a good colour scheme, though it is pushing the line.
However, nothing could make us feel less at home then the sound of crickets outside the window. The soft chirping of a cricket is heard here daily, and I remember writing two years ago that I wrote that there were crickets everywhere, as well as a dog I named Barking Thrice.
This morning we went into Kos city proper and there we ran into another indigenous species. Though it is nigh impossible to see, the sound the killer tree-cricket makes will distinguish it from his far smaller cousin who only chirps at night. The killer tree-cricket sounds more like a crossbreed between a cricket and a monkey. The darned beast is impossible to spot too, although his song is so loud one can easily locate the tree the killer tree-cricket is located in. Despite its awesome camouflage and the fact I have yet to see one with my own eyes, I have already determined that the killer tree-cricket is a monkey-like homunculus with six cricket-like legs. In these appendages it clings to the shell and saw that produce the sound when rubbed together. The saw is possibly very rusty, and also used as a last means of defense.
Should we never be heard from again, rest assured that the killer tree-cricket perished with us, as it is probably not immune to the huge quantities of tzaziki I have already consumed during our stay here.
