Kafka in my Closet

So I'm checking my email in between making pdf files this evening in the Nest, and I keep seeing a shadow out of the corner of my eye. My first thought? "If that is a mouse, I may have to befriend him because I cannot deal with another rodent problem." But this was a silent shadow, so likely not a mouse.

I see it again, sort of waving at me. Hello, friendly shadow!

Keep working. Glance every now and again at my shelving. The personable shadow continues to appear every few minutes. Ok, I'll bite.

I stand up and walk the two steps over to my shelves and look in. Yes, the friendly shadow is actually a cockroach of unusual size. (COUS) Indeed, I'd say he is a. . .

PALMETTO BUG!!!!

AAAAAAAAAHHH!!

SAVE THE CHILDREN!!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

I once thought that "palmetto bug" was a southernism for the monstrous flying cockroaches that we had in south Georgia growing up. A nice term, similar to how ladies "glisten" rather than perspire (much like myself after packing all my books.) No, it's actually a real term for the 2-3 inch long roaches that have armored plating. I'm not kidding. I could throw a book on this beast and he'd bench it for a few sets and then ask for a towel and a rubdown.

Thankfully I've done some serious time with these critters in my childhood. I've been dive bombed by them, I've had them run over my feet, and I've been in hour-long confrontations with the beasties, both winning and losing matches. Between these and Georgia Thumpers, I don't fear big bugs. (Big spiders often give me an incapacitating case of the heebie jeebies, however. You can ask my old roomie A. I could kill any bug [and was always forced to--such a manly girl I am!], but a spider over 2 inches in diameter made me start sweating and making low moaning noises.)

Given my options, I decided to have a chat with him. His name, by the way, is Earl.

"Earl," I said, "I need you to keep you and yours out of my stuff for two weeks."

He nodded slightly, his antennae waving gently from my air conditioner's all too infrequent puffs of cool air.

"I've never seen one of your people in the Nest, so I'm not sure what you're up to. There's no dirt, and it's not very damp up here. I think you're lost, or maybe just seeing 'what's up this pipe over here,' same as Walter. You might have passed by his remains on your way up."

He seemed to gulp at this.

"No, no. I'm not threatening you. I know how hard you are to kill, in any case. I just want you to leave, and stay gone for a while. Tell your peeps that there's nothing up there for them. It's that or chemicals, Earl, and nobody wants that."

An almost Gallic shrug. He knows his kind will dance on the graves of we pinkier beings.

"Go on now, Earl. And please don't play in my boxes. I will unleash fresh hell on you if I find even one piece of your folks in or around a box. Are we clear? Earl?"

I got no response from this, as Earl had moseyed on. I hope we came to an agreement, because I don't know if I have enough moxie to take on palmetto bugs in my current state.