An invertebrate calls

Fairly recently I began to notice that as night fell, I was not as alone in the house as I’d hoped... From under the back door they slither, silently, across the grey-painted floor tiles. In the half-light it can look like someone’s dropped their eyebrow. Then you swear you see the little dark crescent moving.

Yes: my home’s the nightspot to be seen in – if you’re a slug.

Evening brings them out from beyond the garden, and you can watch them scaling walls and fences. Like planes, they leave trails in their wake; platinum-coloured threads that criss-cross over windows, bricks and paving slabs.

Perhaps they’re just indulging in an after-dinner stroll. Maybe they’re after a little heat (if so they’ve slimed into the wrong address). Either way, The Back Door Slugs – there’s usually three of them - never venture beyond a narrow slice of the house that’s used only for hanging indifferent clothes from a pulley and, appropriately, for accessing the garden and bin sheds: their territory. So their invasion of my territory seems a fair enough exchange to me.





Maybe I should provide some entertainment and comfort for them: an obstacle course, or thimbles of beer. My invertebrate friends are always gone by morning – off for another day of garden games until sundown, and the next indoor visit.