I Prey for Help Gardening and This is What I Get

"Oh sweet holy Jesus! Fuck fuck fuck!" I leaped away from the tinted glass door of my work and, with speed of a Formula One race car, the fluidity (but not grace) of Mikhail Baryshnikov, and freaked-the-fuck-out squirrel-like terror I escaped from the source of my nightmares with nary a scratch.

Preying mantises and I have a jaded history. Well, jaded for me, possibly satiating for them. A quick debriefing of our battles is necessary:

1990, Age 7: The initial trauma. Finding a large preying mantis on our patio table I decide to watch him. It turns and looks at me. This begins a 15 minute staring match and, being an obstinate child, I am determined to win. The mantis after careful observation, assumes the giant and obviously stupid child is probably food. It then leaps on my face and bites me.

I scream and run into the house crying, blood beginning to slowly pool on the bridge of my nose. A large preying mantis bite strings like crazy. Mom won't believe me when I tell her what happened. She insists I am lying. I am scolded for being dishonest and clumsy.

1996, Age 13: I am at school waiting for my carpool to come and take me home. I pass the time sitting on the curb next to some shrubs reading a book. My head jerks up when I suddenly feel a tickle on my neck. A mantis has decided to jump on me for one reason or another.

It then decides to extend its arms/claws/legs/sharp things of pain to hold me down and tear out a small piece of me. My eyes go wide and I yelp. He continues to bite and "pin me down". It resists my swatting, holding on like some determined cowboy riding a rodeo bull. I eventually get him off. I do not mention what happened to the members of the carpool as I rub the welt on my neck.

2006, Age 23: I am walking back into work after lunch. For no reason a mantis the size of a house cat (perhaps to my perception) jumps onto my ear and bites into me, drawing blood. There are witnesses this time. Everyone is stunned. They then laugh at my pain. Assholes.

2008, Age 25: A preying mantis somehow found its way into my car. He reveals himself while I am actually driving the car. I slowly pull over the car, take off my shoe, and screaming with a barbarian war-cry smash him into a fine paste on my dashboard with my sandal. Cars slow down to watch the scene. A small victory for me, nonetheless.

2008, Age 25: Angered at the death of his brethren, the previous mantis' avenger reveals itself sitting on my car. As I unlock the door it unfurls its wings, raises its arms/claws/legs/sharp things of pain, and makes a threatening pose. It is huge. I freak out and run away. A co-worker catches him and lets him loose. I nearly pee myself.

So hence my freaking to the preying mantis now on the door of my work is understandable. Still, this one is a baby, not even half the length of my pinky finger. I reason that he is still dangerous to me (at the very least, psychologically) but nothing I cannot destroy first. I am the greater animal here after all. God and evolution chose me to be the dominant species and I would prove it by gooshing him into oblivion.
"Don't do that!" a co-worker cries. "He helps people garden."

I paused, waiting for a connection.

"Maybe yours?"

I stopped and put my foot back down away from the mantis. He doesn't move an inch, which is futile as there is no way his little brown self is camouflaged against the black doormat.

Co-worker has a point. Something the last few days has been chomping on my mint with gusto like a cat in a canary house. It's been frustrating as I search the pots fervently to locate the culprit but having no results. Yet every day more mint is eaten. This mantis could prove useful.

The old adage "the enemy of my enemy is my friend," never seemed so applicable.

I go back inside for a plastic water cup and a clipboard. I carefully usher the mantis into the cup, wary should he decide to attack me. I take him out back. I open the cup over the mint, shake it, and run.

The mantis checks out his new home. He crawls under a leaf and makes himself comfortable. I assume he is fine with his strange and supposedly plentiful hunting grounds. I water the mint from the other side of the pot, giving him his space and I leave him be.

Hopefully, we will be able to co-exist together. So far though, the mint is still being eaten and the mantis does not seem to be doing his job. This freeloader owes me the death I hired him for. We'll have to wait and see.