Late last night I was emailing a friend when I saw something crawling out of the corner of my eye. In one motion, I jumped up and removed my chinelo at the same time, ready to attack. Then I saw him. He crawled down the curtain, onto the table, slithered across my scrapbooking pages that were laying out, and dropped to the floor.
I had been uploading photos, so the camera was on the table, within reach. Stories are always better with pictures, right? He was a quick little guy, so I only got one picture before I realized he was heading for the piano. I whacked him hard and took a picture of just my shoe. I put my camera down and went to pick up my shoe. When I did, he slithered away, totally unscathed! That called for more whacks, like five more actually. I won. See.
Unfortunately, this doesn't count in our cockroach-killing war. We recently had our home sprayed with some highly potent, probably illegal, substance from Argentina, so by the time I find the cockroaches, they're usually on their backs, kicking sadly. I did kill a few live ones this week. One had just entered the kitchen window. I got him with the fly swatter. Today I found the remains of a 'roach in my washing machine after having done a load of wash. I just can't shake the feeling that those clothes didn't get clean! Well, enough sick critter stories. Poor Emma has had a few nightmares lately and although we're coping fairly well with the 'roaches, little girls just shouldn't have to have a legitimate fear that they'll wake up with giant cockroaches in their beds.
