La Cucaracha

The other day I asked a handful of our two-year-old girls if they liked cockroaches. They all replied that they did. I am proud of their brave little souls. This story is not for them.

It is a night like any other.

I wake up at 2:54 a.m. needing to relieve myself. I slide out of bed and look to my left. The dog is laying curled up in a peaceful sleep just next to our bed. She peeks at me momentarily before returning to her slumber. All else is quiet. 

I lumber my way to our bathroom, a mere 5 feet from the bedroom. I flick on the light before entering, in order to conduct a P.C.S., as usual. In the Kitchen, the P.C.S. has been a precautionary measure I have come to depend on, after its role in exposing danger on numerous occasions. However, the Preliminary Cockroach Scan has never before revealed anything in the bathroom, although I am faithful to preform it on all my night-time excursions to the loo. 

Tonight is different, for there in front of me sits a cockroach in all of its glistening black-brown glory. It wiggles its long, stringy antennae as it sees me, angry at being exposed by the light. Then, it charges.

This is when the first battle cry (sometimes referred to as a shriek or a scream by my husband) emerges form my lips. The cockroach runs past me and parks itself in the shady corner where the door meets the frame. It thinks it is hidden. It thinks I can't see it. 

I have two options. I can carry on with my business, and hope it holds its post in the corner until I go back to bed. But then it will be free to continue to roam our house, perhaps reproduce. No, I cannot surrender. To let it win this battle could compromise the war we've declared on the house-dwelling cockroaches. This is no mere street-roach that I can simply step around. This beast is trespassing into our home.

I keep my eyes fixed on it while I plan my attack. It is not the biggest I've seen; only about the size of my thumb. But it's fast, just like any of them. My weapon of choice normally when doing battle is my husband's very large flip-flop. With it I have all but perfected a deadly throwing technique. However, said flip-flop is all the way downstairs. To take my eyes off the roach could mean to allow its escape. I must find something closer. 

I look around me. My resources are limited to a shampoo bottle, a bar of soap, a hand towel, decorative sea shells... I settle on the garbage can. I know my chances of success are slim with this tool, but it's my only reasonable option. I pick up the receptacle and slowly ease my way closer. When I am as close as I can convince myself to get to it, I fire, attempting an air-raid style drop. 

I am not fast enough, and my aim at 3 a.m. is not what I would like it to be. I miss--just barely, but that's all it takes for the cockroach to get away. I utter a second battle cry as it bolts once again. 

It doesn't run very far though, just into the hallway. There it freezes. I have a second chance, which is not often the case with these house-dwellers. I once again take an inventory of potential weapons. A book shelf loaded with books seems like it holds the best options. Something heavy, but something I don't mind throwing on a cement floor and possibly covering with guts. Sense and Sensibility is out of the question, as is my husband's copy of The Hobbit. I'll use my Spanish workbook binder. 

Swiftly I remove it from the shelf and launch into my second attack. Papers fly in every direction and chaos ensues as I realise I've once again missed and shriek a couple of times consecutively, as the cockroach again scrambles in it's creepy fashion intended to instill fear in its enemies. Once again, however, it freezes, inside the guestroom. This roach is obviously a stranger to these parts, as he seems to have no ready hiding place to retreat to. I am presented with a third opportunity. My heart races.

I am roused from my frantic planning from a voice calling from the bedroom. It's my husband. He wants to know if I'm okay. I guess the fourth battle cry roused him. I'm not sure what the appropriate response to his question is, so I say nothing while I think. He stumbles out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed, and asks, "Did you get it?" He knows. I point to the cockroach taking refuge under a table, waving it's long, spindly antenna once again in triumph. 

"Keep an eye on it," he says as he exits the room. 

Within moments of his departure, the insect again bolts, this time behind the thick square leg of the table. I stifle an involuntary squeal that the very movement of these creatures induces in me, and I will it not to move again as I pin it with my eyes.

Justin re-appears, with a couple of 2x4s in his hands. "Here," he says, handing me one, "Where is it now?" I show him. "Block the one side," he instructs. I quickly press my board firm against the table leg and the wall. 

It's trapped. The only way out is the way it went in, and within seconds of the placement of my board, Justin jams his in behind, crushing the cockroach against my 2x4. It's over. I hit it a few times again for good measure, as its type are notorious for playing dead and then escaping. 

Justin goes to get something to clean it up with, and I am once again alone with the cockroach. I look at the corpse of the little creature with whom I battled at this early hour. I realise I've broken a sweat. It's amazing that such a little thing can cause such turmoil. As I gaze at its somewhat crushed body, I feel a twinge of regret. It, just like everything else in the world, was just trying to make a life for itself, doing the only thing it knew how to do. I am on the verge of feeling a kind of sympathy for cockroaches as I see it laying there. Then it's antennae twitches again, and I smack it once more with my 2x4.

The night resumed its usual tranquility. We located our dog, who had gone into hiding at some point during the loud slamming noises. I was able to complete my initial mission without any further interruption, and the three of us fell back into a deep sleep once more. The Battle of the 3 a.m. Cockroach was soon forgotten in the bliss of slumber.