the smack factor

So, I’m sitting here.  Watching some dateline nonsense, waiting for the Melatonin to kick in.  and something dark and shadowy looming by Factor’s laundry sack and work bag caught the corner of my left eye like a college frat boy catches crabs.  only, this was no crab.  I thought it might be a mouse, or a figment of my weird eyeballs… like a piece of my hair.  so i slowly turned to the left and there he stood.  Yes, stood.  Sort of bobbing on his bent, tall, and brown feet.  Antenae wiggling, probably trying to sense a small dog to snack on was Rick, the roach.  Smaller than the super, but larger than my unreturnable nine west stripper shoes, Rick stood there… elevated, his wings threatening to show me that they are useful.  I sqawked, anxiously grabbing the crotch of my ladybug PJ pants as the shakes started from my ankles and walked their way creekily up my legs.

My knees knocked together as I stared at this nasty roach big enough for 8 other roaches to laze under, stacked on top of each other.  I experienced another feeling.  It was a little sympathy or empathy for poor FActor, already 45 minutes asleep, who was about to get rudely shrieked awake by me.  I knew it was going to happen.  I am deathly afraid of these unkillable creatures.   I busted through the door and said “ARE YOU SLEEPING?!?!?!”

“What’s wrong?” poor FActor, probably knowing this was vermin related.

“THERE.  IS A. HUGE.  CREATURE!  OUT THERE!  He’S REALLY BIG… HE’s…. ….  HE’S TALL”

“spray… spray him” mumbles, followed by angry sheet yanking and swishing and almost fall back to sleepness

“I can’t.  please come out here.  I can’t.  HE’s MOVING!!! HE’S…. HE’S LEAVING!  HE’S HEADING OUT THE DOOR!”

That roach just lumbered his way to the huge space between our door and the frame.  He almost didn’t clear the space, but he tucked those feelers away and slipped into the E 12th Street night.

“HE’S GONE!! HE LEFT THE HOUSE!!!” I’m still trilling away every step of Rick’s movement.

“sprayhim underthedoor”

“But I don’t know where the spray is.”

“SINK!”

I sprayed like I have stock in RAID.

“Don’t spray the cat” Factor very clearly mumbled.  See, the neighbors have a cat who’s abused or something, and for whatever reason, she likes to sit at our door late at night, sometimes with her little paws sticking through juuuust a little.

Hang on, I hear something, it might be Rick knocking.   Maybe he forgot his bag.