Egad!

It’s been so long! Well I’m back, with an anecdote.

Last night, I returned to my abode circa 11pm, pleasantly refreshed after a lovely stroll through the East Village from the 1st Ave L train. I go and chat with Athena briefly, until we are interrupted by the mewling and shrieking of Mr. Rupert. He wanted to be fed. “OK, baby,” I said soothingly, picking him up and meandering over to the kitchen. “You’re ready for dinner, huh? Awww.” We snuggle and I put him down on the floor, where he circles my feet imploringly. I open the cabinet below the sink to get out his food box . . . where I see . . .

GASP!

The most gigantic cockroach I have ever seen in all of my life. The worst part about it was the sheer girth of its legs; they were not at all spindly. They had heft, muscle. Of course, I scream. How often does one scream, like really scream?! Not that often. I have to admit, it was exhilarating. I run back to Athena’s room, where I involuntarily tear at my hair (though not exactly tear it out), scratch at my skin, and speak in tongues. (example: “OH MY! No. NO! I saw a! No!!!!!!!! I can’t, I can’t say it. I saw a. No! God!”) Athena begged me to tell her what I saw. Eventually I managed to spit out the word cockroach, probably something like, “It was a . . . I can’t say it. A c… I can’t say it! I saw it ! It was huge. Nooooooooooooooo. COCKROACH!” We both begin surreptitiously looking around, every splotch on the wood floors becoming suspect, every speck of dust on the wall a cockroach larvae.

But egad, what’s this? That splotch IS a cockroach! It’s on its back, multitude of legs splayed! Rupert, apparently had killed one and brought it to Athena as a present!

Disgusting. I tried to be brave, but ended up forcing Athena to remove Rupert’s food box from under the sink and to shake said box to make sure the suddenly ominous looking hole from whence one pours the food will not spew cockroaches. Then I attempt to go about my life, ending up frozen in place in the living room, crouched down in lunge position. How or at what I planned to lunge, I don’t know.

In the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror and tell myself that no roach is going to climb into my mouth and lay its eggs there while I’m sleeping. Nor will one eat my eyeball in one massive gulp. Rupert looks at me inquisitively. I stare at him fiercely, and say, “Rupert, you must kill them ALL. I will love you more if you do so. It is your sacred quest and duty!” (I’d just watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail.)

Then I decide it’s necessary to get Rupert fired up for a night of slaughter, so I get the lemon-shaped toy and we play until he has that ears-back, wild-eyed look. Of course, when I try to send him on his mission to kill the roaches, he doesn’t understand. Thus, so far the only real problems I’ve had on account of the roaches are deep and painful Rupert-bites on my shoulder, hand, and forearms.