Of Locusts, Roaches, and Cats
I like animals. No, I love animals.
I like insects. They’re fascinating. For fun, I find the best close-up photography and post them on my WhatsApp Status just to freak out my friends. The horrified and crying emojis I get in response make my day.
Roaches are not one of those fascinating insects.
Neither are locusts.
Lo and behold, I walk into my mother’s room and find a battlefield of dead roaches and locusts. I almost screamed.
Apparently, Lizzy is an adept hunter.
Mom is laying casually in bed like it’s an everyday thing to have dead roaches and locusts all across your bedroom floor.
Roaches — I cannot stand roaches. One flew at me when I was 6. I’m 29 now. I have yet to recover from the experience. I want to run for the hills screaming when I see one. Sometimes I manage not to.
As for locusts, there’s just some evil creepiness to them. First thing I think of is the story of Mûsa and Fir’awn. Next, I think of A Bug’s Life. That was the movie that came out when I was 7. I can’t actually remember if the antagonists were actually locusts or not, but they sure looked like them. Evil things, stealing food from the ants. Now they’ve come up with a similar movie, except it’s bees versus hornets now. The hornets are the evil ones apparently.
I hate roaches. I hate locusts.
I thought the housekeeper might scream like I almost did when she went in to clean. She didn’t. She must be more hardy than I am.
Life has been pretty standard, other than the locust-roach invasion of my mother’s bedroom. I’ve been using this quarantine productively for the most part.
I’m happy to say the roaches and locusts are gone. I would prefer spiders next time. A daddy long legs would make me very happy. Not dead though. I prefer them alive.
