humor >> The Roach and I

The word’s gotten out that I’m a complete wimp. What other reason would there be for this robust roach to come fearlessly into my kitchen in broad daylight?

I was sitting at the table, sipping my coffee and arousing my brain on the Jumble puzzle in the paper. P*E*R*I*D. Maybe “diper”? Nah.  That’s when I notice him strolling across the floor.

This guy waltzed right across the sunlit, tile floor as casually and confidently as a used car salesman. This wasn’t the rustle of a harried father of four thousand trying to scrape up food for his brood. This was the swagger of a teenager who thinks he’s impervious. He might have been a gang member trying to prove his courage in a daring daytime raid.

He crawled to within a foot of my foot with no fear, no apprehension. Did he know I wouldn’t use it? It’s true that I’ve been known to let more than one escape unscathed. I have no love of the lowliest of God’s creatures; in fact I find them repulsive. What I find even more repulsive, actually nauseating, is the crack of exoskeleton and the sight of splattered entrails. Because of this revulsion, my motto has always been, “Out of sight, out of mind.” Normally when I saw a roach, I would leave the room for a couple of minutes to allow ample time for escape.  Was knowledge of my wimpiness widespread?

He stopped and looked at me. I was insulted. This kind of effrontery could not go unchallenged. I went to the cabinet under the sink to retrieve my weapon of choice. I was sure he would beat a hasty retreat while my back was turned, but he didn’t.

So, I shot him. He went berserk. He scampered in a zigzag pattern dodging the poisonous bullets. He was good. I shot three more times and missed each time. He ducked for cover under the stove.

“That should do it!”  I thought. Maybe he’d go back to his gang and report a change of my status from “wimp” to “watch-out”.

I went back to my puzzle. P*E*R*I*D. Uhm? Aha! “Pride”. I wrote it in the little squares and circle and looked at the next one: D*R*O*A*W*C. That’s a tough one. As I was trying different combinations, my peripheral vision registered a movement.

He’s back! That impudent kamikaze. Does he think so little of me? Why would he return to the militarized zone? What was he looking for? The Holy Grail?

Then I remembered what our exterminator told us about these insects. They aren’t the house variety roach but an outside type called the Palmetto bug. They only come inside following the scent of moisture hence the attraction of kitchens and bathrooms. They are pretty desperate to attempt the pilgrimage.

My nemesis had given his last, best effort to reach life-sustaining water. Death was certain if he didn’t succeed. He wasn’t afraid of me. In fact, he might have wanted me to put him out of his misery, quickly and finally, with one stamp of my shoe. And I’d let him down. Not only had I not killed him, I’d increased his suffering with a poison that was slowly shutting down his nervous system. I could see then that he was dragging one side of legs. He was coming back because he wanted me to finish the job. All I had to do was lift my foot and squash him into sweet, peaceful oblivion.

But I couldn’t do it. That crack! That slime! That mangled carcass to be disposed! Before I could think anymore, I pulled off a few paper towels, pinched him into the folds, and hurried to the bathroom. With one quick motion, I threw him into the toilet and flushed.  Before I shut the lid, I caught a brief glimpse of his flailing legs as he fought the whirlpool.

As I walked back into the kitchen, I thought of the irony of his death in the very substance that he was seeking to stay alive.

I sat down and resumed my puzzle. D*R*O*A*W*C*. hum? Aha! “Coward”

Ah, yes, coward.