A Cockroach Ate My Baby (Almost)

When my baby cries in the middle of the night I typically roll over and groan. Or I kick off the covers and let out a hearty, "Aargh!" The later (or earlier I suppose) it gets, the crankier I become. I don't usually bother waking my husband because, unlike myself, he's not in the business of making milk. Making the breadwinner get up at inhumane hours on a "school night" would be a divorce-worthy offense.

Sighting the Enemy
I was off to fetch the baby one night around four in the morning. One of our cats was atop the coffee table gazing intensely up at the ceiling fan. This cat is unquestionably demented, but not so insane that he goes still as a hunting dog in the middle of the night. So, I too looked up at the ceiling fan where a massive, man-eating cockroach sat watching the world go round, literally. I'm talking Kafka sized with wings. "This is definitely a good time to wake my husband," I thought.

He slogged out to the living room to see what I was whining about. When he saw La Cucaracha he rubbed his eyes and muttered, "Eew."

Improvised Combat
For whatever reason, we decided not to use roach spray on it. Instead, in our sleep deprived delirium, we thought the best method of killing the cockroach would be to throw a shoe at it. That's right, not whack the bug with the shoe, but throw the shoe at the ceiling fan. As you may have already predicted, this was not an effective method of killing a cockroach the size of a football.

After several useless attempts at dislodging Little Kafka, he fell to the floor where he was devoured by our three deranged cats.

Three Cats in a Closet
I was once under the impression that Florida had a terrible insect problem. When I moved here I was pleasantly surprised. Mosquitoes are vastly more aggressive in New England, ants are more invasive in California, and cockroaches are far more diabolical in Hawaii. Regardless of all that, cockroaches are still gross even when they're pleasantly referred to as "Palmetto Bugs".

Recently, I reached into my awkwardly designed linen closet to retrieve a hand towel. Way up in the corner sat another super sized cockroach. With my husband at work, I had no one to call upon to rescue me. I gazed at the cockroach, he regarded me. He challenged me to a staring duel and mocked me as I closed the door on him. Something must me done, but what?

Again, using insecticide wasn't an option because it would get all over my sheets and towels. What mom has time to rewash and fold all that laundry? I was reluctant to throw a shoe at it because that would merely dislodge it from its perch, where it would nestle in with my nice, fluffy, fresh smelling towels. Nobody wants to be assaulted by a cucaracha as they're attempting to dry off after a bubble bath. That left me with one other option--lock the cats in the linen closet so they could capture and eat the cockroach.

I fantasized about three cats in the linen closet. What a brilliant way to control the pet population! There was no way they would all come out alive. No more cat hair, cat boogers, or litter tracked all over my baby. It was a perfect plan, except that it wouldn't work. There's certainly no room for three cats in the linen closet. What if I use just one cat, put him up on the top shelf and let him have at it? That little Jiminy Cricket voice came to me and said, "You might frighten the bug away but then you'll have to pay thousands of dollars in vet bills after the cat breaks his leg, tail and neck."

Sucking it Up
What a disappointment. I suppose I could shoot it with the BB gun (the cockroach, not the cat), but I wouldn't want to lose an eye when the BB ricocheted back at me. I could create a butterfly net with a broom handle, some duct tape and a sieve, but what if he crawls down the handle and up my sleeve? That'd put me into convulsions.

For now, I'll just have to cohabitate with Little Kafka until he scuttles off to whatever dark cleft he emerged from. I hope he wasn't planning on staying long. Now all I can do is pray that he doesn't eat my baby before he goes.