The Good Column | About Mosquitoes and People

"Fortune smiles; but she is reluctant / to fully delight us; / if she gives us a summer's day, / she also gives us mosquitoes." These are a few well-known verses by Wilhelm Busch. But while in Busch's lifetime, mosquitoes could easily be eradicated with a few bold swats of the flat of the hand, things are more difficult today.

Advanced climate change is leading to milder winters, extreme summer temperatures, and heavier rainfall—ideal living conditions for mosquitoes. The consequences: Not only is the number of mosquitoes increasing dramatically, but they also have "extended activity periods," as the media puts it in their typically trivializing manner. In other words: The filthy creatures are everywhere. And they outnumber you. They invade your home, terrorize you, drink your blood, rob you of sleep, and trigger dangerous viral diseases. They take it for granted that they'll turn your kitchen into their playroom and your bathroom into their breeding ground. Until new, even more creatures hatch and repeat the process in a more intense form.

I'm not sure whether, in a better future, animal species that deserve it shouldn't be allowed to go extinct for a change. One thing is certain: so far, it's always been the wrong species that have been wiped out. The cuddly dodo, a flightless bird that was exterminated in the 17th century, and the quagga, for example, a zebra-like quadruped whose last living specimen breathed its last in 1883, have never harmed anyone.

In contrast to the mosquito: "Incidentally, humans are only bitten by the females," the Austrian daily newspaper "Der Standard" recently reported. "Female mosquitoes need proteins from the blood of mammals to produce eggs." Just to be clear: "Mammals" here refers to you and me. Not only from the considerable number of itchy and reddened swellings with which my body is now covered, but also from the multitude of bloodstains irregularly distributed on my bedroom wall, I can see: Climate change is my enemy. And I'm fighting it in my own humble way.

I refuse to continue serving as a protein provider for vampire mosquitoes: At night, when there's a buzzing and humming around my ear and I realize too late yet again that I've been abused as a protein source and blood refueling station, I go mosquito hunting. Anyone who could observe me would behold a memorable scene: a man, marked by the signs of age, a urine-yellow paperback in his hand, wearing only a pair of mercerized cotton sleep shorts printed with Bugs Bunny motifs, standing upright in bed, his manic gaze fixed on the ceiling, in a kind of trance, muttering quietly to himself. I find myself whispering to the mosquito: "I'll get you, you bastard." I say: Of course, mosquitoes are bastards. I say: The animal on my ceiling is a bastard, it's not a human, and so we have to deal with it. And of course you can shoot.

In Italy, at least eleven people have died since the beginning of the year after becoming infected with West Nile fever, a disease transmitted by mosquitoes. "Mosquitoes cause more than 800,000 deaths per year, making them the deadliest animal to humans, far exceeding all other animals (apart from humans)." (Wikipedia)

Now, I don't own a firearm, and one might not be the ideal weapon: using it would leave unsightly marks on my walls in the long run. But on my nightstand, I have the aforementioned urine-yellow book (a free review copy) by a popular Axel Springer servant, ready and waiting. Reading it would be too much to ask. But with the right amount of force, it has exactly the right thickness to instantly end a mosquito's life. Bang! After a successful kill, the mortal remains of the blood-sucking insects usually stick to the book. Serves them right. Until the end of time, their crushed corpses will serve as a memorial for those who follow them: Anyone who thinks they can snuggle, buzz, sting, and murder in my home with impunity will end up on the cover of a book by a Springer editor.

You see: I don't just want to kill the creatures, I also want to humiliate them.