The cockroaches are starting to come out of the woodwork. Luckily for me, I have three cockroach hunters living with me. There is the cat, who doesn’t kill them outright, but will play with them for hours, or crouch by the oven for an eternity waiting for that bug to come out again. Next is the dog, who will eat any crawling, flying, or scurrying little thing he can catch. Gus’s favorite game in the evening is “Get the Moth.” And then there is the husband, who was stalking around on the patio with a 2×4 last night after a particularly large roach tried to get inside.
Cockroaches are gross, but they don’t freak me out. Spending the first 7 years of my life in an old house in Phoenix, roaches were no big deal. You saw one, you got a shoe, and you smashed it. None of this screaming and jumping up on a chair to get away from it. However, finding one in your bed in the middle of the night is an entirely different story.
I don’t know how old I was, probably around 5, but less than 7 because we were still living in Phoenix. Meredith and I had a bunkbed and I slept on the top. One night I was sure I saw a roach crawling on my quilt. I brushed frantically at the spot, climbed down and ran to my parents room for reinforcement. I don’t remember who I came back with, but I am going to deduce that it was my dad, because of how the situation was handled. He checked the bed for the offending bug, didn’t find it, and told me this: Cockroaches do not like to go on fabric.
This made perfect sense to me. Of course they don’t like it! We find them in our house because we have wood floors! I am perfectly safe from them when I am in my bed! I went back to sleep reassured that no creepy-crawlies were going to get me.
I don’t know when I realized that my dad had lied to me about cockroaches not liking fabric. That lie did get me back in bed that night, so I guess it served its purpose.