It’s after midnight. The shadowy prison is prepared. Specimen
jars line the kitchen bench like cells in a corridor, waiting quietly for the
inmates to arrive. The mood is sombre.
I wonder: “Will the capture be successful?” I am tentative, nervous and
armed. Clumsy hands guarded by gardening gloves carry tweezers almost half my
body length. Specimen jars are strapped to my waist like ammunition. I look like
any average local lunatic who roams the suburbs after dark. And my specimen, you
ask? Deadly? I doubt it. Large? To your average ant, yes. Frightening?
Absolutely!
They are quiet creatures with…
