Praying Mantis or Preying Mantis?

Arcata, California
October 2025

It began with delight and wonder: a large praying mantis hung from the side of our hummingbird feeder. She clung to the edge, impersonating a green-brown twig that had mysteriously sprouted from the red plastic. Motionless, she waited for wasps, bees, and flies drawn to the sugary nectar. She was a female, identifiable by her size and swollen abdomen — soon she would lay an egg case and then perish.

At first, the Anna’s hummingbirds seemed indifferent to her presence, perhaps mistaking her, too, for a small branch. But an hour later, the mantis had climbed onto the flat top of the feeder, taking command of the surface. (This was a bowl-style feeder clipped to the top of a railing, not the usual hanging glass bottle design.) Now there were occasional standoffs between the hummers and the mantis.

As one hummingbird perched on its feeding post, the mantis faced the bird and waved her arms like green grass blades in a breeze. Were these gestures meant to threaten or defend? I couldn’t tell. Concerned that either the bird or the insect might get harmed, I turned to the internet for advice — and that’s when things grew more complicated.

To my dismay, I learned that mantises sometimes catch and eat hummingbirds. It’s rare, and usually requires an even larger mantis, but the possibility was enough to unsettle me. I considered relocating her to a safer spot.

Then, with further research, the situation grew thornier still. I discovered she was not a native mantis but an invasive species — the European mantis (Mantis religiosa.) They were first introduced to the U.S. by accident in 1899, and again in the 1930s, this time intentionally, to (unsuccessfully) control gypsy moths.

How did I know she was a European species? Her wings extended beyond her abdomen, and she bore two large dark spots — in what I’d call her “armpits” — where her front legs attached to her thorax. In California, the two most common non-native mantises are the European and the Chinese.

The recommendations online were unequivocal: kill the invasive insect so she wouldn’t reproduce and further displace native species. My feelings turned heavy. The mantis had gone, in the space of a few minutes, from a small miracle of nature to a villain in the local ecosystem — through no fault of her own, but because of how humans had brought her here.

Chris volunteered, reluctantly, to do what needed to be done. I fretted over the decision, my heart torn. She was beautiful, fierce, and otherworldly. A reminder of the stunning multiplicity of life forms on Earth. I felt honored to have met her. We said a short prayer, and with a quick knock to the ground and a single stomp, it was over.

The world can be brutal. And ethically challenging.

(See my post on the California Praying Mantis: https://carlabrennan.com/meet-the-stagmomantis-californica/)

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