Have not all us parents at least once heard the terrified cry of our child in the night: "There's one of them in my room!" And we have then had to rush in, and squash with all our might the tiny thing that scuttles and darts loathsomely in some corner of the room, before the child calms down and dares to rest?

And are not even many of our grown, mature members still paralyzed with terror upon being confronted with one of them having dared to venture into the light? Should one of them be found to have crept up from its loathsome lair somewhere deep underground, or from the dense undergrowth of a nearby forest, we cannot help shivering slightly in dread. Though we are fully aware that the creatures are quite incapable of causing any real harm to us, still does the very thought of them make us tremble, as it has for so many long ages.

Not all of us hate and fear them; there are those who even care for them, collect them and place them inside artificial habitats so they can be observed and fed. How can those of us do so, we often ask ourselves. They creep and crawl in the darkness, repulsive and evil.

They only creep out of their hidden holes in search of whatever scraps of food they can lay hold of. This we know. It doesn't help. Our fear and hatred of them is deeply ingrained into our very blood. We see them, and if we are able, smash them into bloody smears, and then tell ourselves: It's alright. The human is dead.