THE COCKROACH, Part 2, THE REST OF THE STORY

“And now for the rest of the story,” quoting Paul Harvey, the once popular radio commentator, as he enticed his listeners to continue following his comments, I offer the conclusion to my “cockroach encounter.”

You may wonder why I panicked at something everyone deals with almost every day if you live in the coastal areas of our country. A back story that justifies my obvious preoccupation with crawling things may help clarify the fact. Of course, in the spring a new generation of lizards (if they have more legs than I, they are lizards although different nomenclature may apply) begin to appear inside the house, either by their own curious wanderings or being dragged in by the cats. They are not welcome in my space, and I’m very vocal about moving them out of my sight.

In addition, my grand-daughter owns a pet corn snake, Spartacus, pretty orange color, about four feet long, I think, who lives in an aquarium-type cage in her bedroom. He’s eight-years-old; born in captivity.  Tasha returned from vacation on Wednesday night about three weeks ago. Caring for Spartacus became Robyn’s responsibility in Tasha’s absence. She checked on Spartacus on Monday evening verifying he looked fine, and certainly rested peacefully in his cage.

However, on Thursday morning, Tasha came to my room, obviously distraught. Walking back and forth, she began the conversation.

“Mommo (her childhood name for me), I don’t want you to panic or anything. I have to tell you something.”

“Okay, what’s wrong?” I asked, as visions of “what happened to you in Colombia?” began to race through my mind.

“Well, I don’t want you to panic,” she continued to walk back and forth, “Spartacus isn’t in his cage!”

Relieved that Spartacus aroused her panic rather than Colombia, I began to wrap my mind around the possibility of a snake slinking around the house, and may be in my space. Asking for a powerful flashlight, she planned to search my rooms since the search of her room confirmed his freedom.

“How did he get out? I asked, as I quickly provided her with the most powerful light I could find.

“It looks like the cats may have fallen through the screen on the cage.” How could we be so careless with a snake? I thought.  With a futile search of my rooms, Tasha moved into the rest of the house. She hunted throughout the day without success.

Trying to be as gracious as possible considering the fact, a snake (although corn snakes are harmless constrictors, and Spartacus lived his entire life in a cage with human care and touch his only experience)  is still at large hiding somewhere. To me, a snake is a snake, and I don’t want one near me even if he’s a pet. I couldn’t turn off the light and go to bed that night. Tasha didn’t go to bed either. She spent the night tracking the snake armed with information about “how pet snakes react when free,” along with my powerful flashlight. He remained elusive, in hiding, or whatever you want to call the situation when a snake is at large in your house.

Tasha continued to pursue Spartacus during the day on Friday without success. She learned he would follow the walls, look for food and water, remain hidden during the daylight hours, and he could go anywhere he could get his head. I walked around a bit dazed from “no sleep” always seeing something moving out of the corner of my eye with every step.

At last, on Friday evening as the family watched TV, they noticed the cats seemed anxious while stalking the row of books shelves in the room.  Tasha had checked the area several times; didn’t think he could crawl under the book shelves. With the cats’ unrelenting behavior, they moved the book shelves to find Spartacus curled up in the darkness. Tasha grabbed him and returned him to security. Since I remained unaware of the action in the family room, she burst into my room to announce, “We found Spartacus!” I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but I’m absolutely certain, he could cause me to hurt myself. Therefore, I felt relief the saga had ended with everyone okay, including Spartacus, and the household would sleep that night.

Now, back to the cockroach. Perhaps, in view of my last few weeks of crawling things experience, you will have more sympathy for me as I endure the aggressive critter invasion. To remind you, he crawled under the dresser, and remained out of sight until the next evening. I took a shower thinking to try to sleep that night. When leaving the shower, I looked down being certain to navigate the step. Just in front of me a quite beautiful, as nature’s creatures can be, Albino Salamander sat, fearlessly, looking up at me.  I appreciate their contribution to nature, and I know they are harmless, but I DONOT want them in my space. I confined him under a glass until someone could move him OUT.

Continuing my task of settling down for the night, I reached to open my sock drawer. There he sat stretching his head upward as if to say, “I’m still here!” Shocked again, I screamed and jumped back. He ran and finding no traction on the rolled edge of the dresser, he fell to the floor. He ran like a steak of lightning under my bed. OH NO!! I thought, he’s under my bed. The bed is on wheels and I moved it out so I could see. There he sat waiting for me. I tried to hit him with my slipper, but I must have swept him out of sight. Gone again, but still in my room. I sat down almost in tears. How can I be so disturbed by this creature?  In a few minutes, he brazenly crawled out into my sight and stopped in front of me. I swiped at him again and missed. He ran behind the piano.  So very tired, I fell into bed trying to put him out of my mind.  I hoped I had hurt him as he seemed injured when he crawled behind the piano.

He didn’t die behind the piano. The next evening I came into my room to find the cockroach sitting in front of my chair. I stood still trying to think what to do. You rascal, you have beaten me, I thought, as I remembered I have nice strong shoes on this evening. So I, carefully, stepped forward and came down on him with my foot. I felt him crunch, and I shivered as I stepped back away from him. He appeared dead. I grabbed my phone and took his picture. AH HA they will believe me now. There really is a cockroach here, and I have the evidence.

He moved; his antenna swept back and forth. I grabbed a paper towel, picked him up, and quickly dropped him in the toilet. He began to swim vigorously, and almost made it out before I could hit the handle to flush him down. I admit I checked to see if he had returned at least twice before I accepted the cockroach is dead – the saga is over.

Please, God, no more crawly things for a spell. I need some rest.

THE COCKROACH

Suffering from writer’s block for several months, or possibly just finding other interests to steal my writing time, I found my way back to the pen this week, and following is the result.  I should preface this article with the fact that my daughter is a "clean freak" who runs the vacuum cleaner almost as often as she brushes her teeth. But this is Louisiana - the tropics - enough said.

In the beginning God created the heavens, the earth, and all living creatures. These are facts, and I believe them to be true as I have the highest regard for the Bible. I understand that God gave man the freedom of choice, and for that reason, we master our own fate. Of course, things would be different if not for my sister, Eve, who chose to eat the fruit and gave it to Adam, who chose to do the same, although he blamed Eve when God questioned him.

     “Trim and tend the garden and don’t eat the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil,” God said, as He placed them in a perfect environment. However, they disobeyed Him and managed to be exiled from the beautiful garden where no thorns or weeds grew and no critters crawled about the land.

     Having said this, I now set the scene later – in fact - thousands of years later in the present, this evening. It’s been a harrowing day to say the least with several crises having stressed my 84- year- old mind. Technology tried my patience with AOL malfunctioning, and with the Geek Squad unable to help, aggravating the situation even more. But, I digress.

     With several projects to complete before Saturday, this Wednesday evening finds me behind schedule and wondering if I will survive. As a wannabee artist, my goal is to please those who have commissioned (artists love that word – makes one feel important) me to paint projects to their specifications. After Bible Study, I sat down at my easel to work on a painting for a new young barber who is opening his shop. The scene, a barber chair with shelves, spread before me on a large canvas which blocked my view of the table where my tools were located.

     Engrossed in painting a canister on the shelf, I turned to dip the brush in red paint and looked back at the canvas. As I raised the brush to the image, I froze. My hand wouldn’t move. Looking straight at me from beside the canister image sat a huge cockroach. At least two inches long, his shiny wings tucked back, he switched his antenna back and forth and steadied himself like an airplane revving up its engines to take flight.  He jumped at me. Screaming with panic, I batted him away.

     On my feet like a flash, yes, even at 84-years-old, I moved quickly trying to see where he landed. Searching around the art table among the paint, brushes, and various paper items, I knew he could be hiding anywhere.  After a few minutes, I decided he may be rooms away by now. With this thought, I returned to my painting project, cautiously looking about all the while.

     The sound of paper moving ever so softly brought my attention to a container where I disposed of several paint-ridden paper towels. Peeking around the canvas at the container – you guessed it –his tail sticking out of the paper wiggled as he rummaged among the towels. I picked up a towel nearby and smashed into the container. He must be dead. I looked through the mess, but couldn’t find him.  He got away again, and may be in the next parish by now.

     More cautiously than before, I returned to painting, but every little sound kept my eyes moving back and forth checking. Several minutes passed in which I moved around the room working with my project. As I sat looking over my work, something moving on the table caught my attention. This creature crawled at top speed toward me, paused for a moment to look straight at me, and before I could react, he leaped to my arm. Again, I jumped to my feet screaming at this possessed critter from hades, and finally knocked him to the floor. He ran along by a drawer while I gave chase trying to kill him, but he got away under the chest of drawers.

     Now, in the wee hours of the morning, I sit here wondering where he is hiding just waiting to jump on me again. I hear little tiny crackling noises coming from everywhere. I know he’s here. He may be in the drawer with my night gown. He went under there when he ran from me. Do I want to open that drawer? Do I want to turn the light out? It’s 2:45 am.

     Meanwhile, back to the beginning. I blame Eve for my evening of misery. If she had told that serpent to get lost, I wouldn’t be sitting here looking for that cockroach. You see, I believe God created the cockroaches to plague Eve for disobeying Him, and I intend to question her about such stupidity when I get to heaven. Of course, I have a long list of other culpabilities to discuss with her too – such as child birth and such like.

      As to the illusive cockroach, history tells us it’s believed he survived the flood. I don’t doubt that. I admit the one – I hope there’s only one – hiding in my room tonight is clever, aggressive, and more resilient than I. In my view, he has an even chance to live until the earth is destroyed by fire. God has promised nothing will survive that event.