Moving out of my apartment and into a home has been the best thing I’ve ever done. After 2 1/2 years of playing house, it truly feels like my sanctuary. The backyard erupts with wildflowers and untamable sage every summer, drawing butterflies in the day and fireflies at night. The rooms have graciously accommodated my belongings, new and old, never becoming cramped, despite my proclivity for collecting dishes and plates. It has its flaws and quirks, but don’t we all? In my eyes, it’s perfect. Well… Almost perfect.
Compared to the “visitors” I’ve experienced in previous abodes, the occasional intrusion of insects is barely worth mentioning. We all live in the same world out there, seeking shelter, and I’m quite flattered that they find mine every bit as appealing. I do my best to usher out the flies and roly-polies, while I’ll always welcome my helpful little spiders, keeping the corners clear of smaller prey. It’s the cockroaches that make my heart stop.
Scuttling about at the break of dawn like shadows urgently escaping the light’s glare, I’d almost prefer not to cross their paths, merely accepting their unseen presence. It’s when they get a bit too comfortable and stick around that we have trouble.
I know full well that after humans are gone, cockroaches will remain. These creatures are far stronger than me so I try to avoid a fight. Unfortunately, they’ve mistaken my peaceful disposition as an open invitation, multiplying with a speed that could put rabbits to shame. One begets two, two become ten, ten….
My home is still my safe space. It’s simply theirs now, too.
Continue reading “Roach Motel”