Update on my housing requirements: I was wrong: Cockroaches are a deal breaker. In last week's post, I waffled a bit. Apparently I wasn't sure. Today, I no longer have any doubts. I can abide cockroaches temporarily (while I actively try to kill them), but I will not knowingly choose lodging that is infested. How did I suddenly become so certain? It's not hard to figure out. I've spent the last week fighting cockroaches.
My first thought, as is often the case, was wildly incorrect.
During the second night of my stay, I got up to use the bathroom and interrupted a cockroach family hoedown. The scattering of roach babies on the floor in front of the toilet was my first clue, but it took my bleary eyes a moment to process what I was seeing. Then I saw four large adults—when I say large, I mean about one inch long, not counting antennae—hustling to escape under or behind something.
I hurried to the laundry room and grabbed the first useful weapon I could find: a spray bottle of Clorox. By now the adults had disappeared, but I mowed down the babies. They are easy prey. First they freeze, trying to look like any other inocuous piece of detritus on the floor, and then when they know the jig is up, they run for it. But they are slow and stupid, no match for me with a bottle of Clorox. I cleaned up the mess with baby wipes and hunted around for anything else that was stupid enough to move, but saw nothing.
My heart rate was nicely elevated at this point. I turned on the kitchen light and tiptoed into the kitchen, Clorox poised. I saw nothing skittering at my approach. I moved my food bag off the floor to the stove. As I turned back, my heart fluttered. An enormous cockroach lounged on the kitchen counter, paying no attention to me. When I say enormous, I mean its body was fully two inches long, not counting the antennae that it finally swiveled in my direction.
"No, no, no, not happening," I said and shot it with Clorox.
That got its attention. I am not proud to say, I continued to shoot that poor creature with bleach (gets out stains!) as it attempted to make itself scarce under various appliances on the counter. It was like trying to hide a dumptruck behind a bar of soap. Ater a year in the Bat Cave, my eyes are trained to spot minute movement in, under, and behind things. All it takes is one waving antenna to get my radar twitching. This guy was too big to hide. I soaked it in Clorox until it finally ran blindly off the counter and fell, flailing, onto the floor. I sprayed it until it was on its back, legs futilely scurrying in the air, and when it finally seemed dead, I entombed it under a small tupperware container. I peered at it through the hazy plastic and eventually deemed the fight over, battle won, chalk one up to me. Then I turned off my video camera. Yes, I got the whole sordid episode on video. At that point, I was thinking, I need evidence to show my friend, in case she didn't know already, that all was not right in the happy house.
Since then, the battle has raged, mostly in the bathroom. I pinpointed the infestation to the wall behind the vanity. On Monday, I got two kinds of nontoxic bug spray and proceeded to nuke the baseboards all around the bathroom. Nontoxic apparently doesn't mean without stench: essential oils will scrape your eyeballs out of your head if you don't have some ventilation, I discovered. Still, inhaling pungent lemongrass was worth it if I could get the bugs to stop bugging me.
The next day I acquired a can of Raid and went to town all along the bathroom baseboards. I did the kitchen for good measure, even though I hadn't seen any more action there since the godawful fight with the monster. As the body count mounted, I realized I could not leave the carcasses lying there as evidence. Evidence of what? If my friend wasn't aware the house was infested, then leaving a bunch of dead bugs for her to find would be mean and purposeless. I found a whisk broom and dustpan and did what had to be done.
It's been a week now since I first discovered I am not alone in this house. The stench of lemongrass lingers. I sleep with the bedroom light on. When I venture out to use the bathroom at night, I arm myself with the Zevo bottle. I turn on the hall light and scan the floor. If I see an enemy, I chase it down and spray it until it dies. I leave the body as a warning to others. Then I turn on the kitchen light, just to be sure there are no meandering intruders. Finally, I turn on the bathroom light. Every night so far, I have seen one or two adults recreating on the floor by the vanity. With the bottle of Zevo, I am merciless.
This morning I gingerly entered the bathroom and found a dead cockroach on the floor, one I did not kill. Unless I have been befriended by an anonymous vigilante superhero, I can now have hope that the Raid is doing its magic behind the vanity. I will not let my guard down, though, because I know what I've seen is probably just the tip of the cockroach iceberg. A few nocturnal wanderers means there are lots of babies and grandpas lounging around in the nest. The babies will grow up to be jihadists.
If God is a cockroach, I'm going to hell for sure. I don't get pleasure out of killing God's creatures. If I have to live with pests, I'd prefer spiders, small ones, please, and preferably not venomous. I don't like spiders either, but they do good, and they don't have an attitude. You know what I mean? If you have been around cockroaches, you understand. Cockroaches are arrogant. They know they own the world and will inherit the earth when humans self-annihilate, which will probably happen in my lifetime. Cockroaches can afford to be cocky.
I might think I have won the battle to save the happy house (delusion), but I know I will lose the war. Yes, before I leave I will check my bags carefully for stowaways. I prefer to travel alone.
