Some years ago I donated money to a foundation for a serious illness in memory of my former boss and friend, Bill O’Shea. Since then they have me on their hit list and claim me as a lifelong friend. They even wanted to recruit me to dun my friends and neighbors. I said "not".

My activist friend sent me one or two website links so I could save wolves, stop deforestation, clean up bad air, etc. I dutifully signed petitions to support these causes. Since then these websites have spawned children who now E mail me daily to support other worthy causes with more than a signature, with donations. Aside from the drain on my finances this would entail, it is daunting to vet each one to be sure they are actually using donations to support their avowed causes. After months with no let-up, my reaction is “all right, everybody out.” So, laboriously, I am clicking on “please unsubscribe me.”

We adopted Chewy from the Humane Society and gave in to its membership drive and joined. They have thoughtfully given our name to every animal rights group on the planet and we now receive almost daily requests for money, with horror stories about atrocities on animals. I am not psychologically or emotionally constituted to absorb these tragedies.

Do these outfits know how they are shooting themselves in the foot? Periodic requests might be honored, but not daily ones. And, of course, every time I toss one of these mailings, I feel guilty, and they are counting on that. Well, it’s backfiring. I will start writing “refused” on these envelopes and sending them back. Maybe they’ll get the message.

Meanwhile, creatures who do not need saving but vigorous stomping continue to crawl around my house. We have placed insecticide in several strategic places so when I do see a critter, it is limping, at least. However, even when it is toes up and seemingly dead, when I reach to grab it with a paper towel, it revives and kicks its way free. When I stomp it and remove my foot, it uncurls and, dragging its entrails, moves away. This morning I managed to complete (repeated stomping) the demise and was rewarded with a truly dead bug. I was particularly determined because it was on its way to the bed and the last thing I need at 4 a.m. is something crawling on my face.

Years ago in my New York loft, I had an infestation of ants. These are decidedly armored creatures. I’d pound on them and they would routinely uncurl and run under the sink cabinet. Finally, the genius here, got the vacuum and sucked them all up. After several days of repeated effort, my loft was finally ant free. The ants, meanwhile, were eating dust in the vacuum bag and bemoaning the day they met me. That thought continues to cheer me in dark times.

xx, Teal