This morning I found a (thankfully dead) MASSIVE COCKROACH on the guestroom floor, just to the right of where Loki is sprawling in that photo. And even though it was dead – cats must have done it in, those heroes – it took all of my everything to pick the fucker up in a handful of paper towels and flush the dread thing down the toilet. And then of course it wouldn’t go down. Took four flushes to stop it from bobbing back up like an evil hallowe’en apple. For one mad moment I thought the water might revive it and it would come back to life. Aaaarrgh.

After the first two summers here without a sighting I thought this latest Casa Azahar was somehow magically protected from these horrors. But then last summer there was not just one, but two instances. After the second one I spent the rest of August sleeping with the living room lights on. I mean, I know they are “just bugs” and I that am way bigger than they are, but I am totally irrational about them. I used to feel this way about large spiders but that was before I met Periplaneta Americana.

Anyhow, hours after The Incident I am still suffering from PTHB (post traumatic heebie jeebies) and jumping at any slight something I see out of the corner of my eye. Probably a good time for a glass of wine, or six…