Henry is Dead

I always thought roaches had to be the nastiest insect (at least of those who tend to invade homes). On more than one occasion during our first year of marriage I called Doug in tears over roaches in our humble abode. I knew I just needed to stomp on them, but I was so afraid of them running up my leg or jumping on me.

Then I met cave (or camel) crickets.

These are definitely nastier as they do indeed jump. They love the dark, dampness of our garage and occasionally one will slip into the basement. Like a it did a couple of weeks ago.

I was rearranging some junk in the closet when one startled me. I'm sure I screamed. But try as I may, the little creature alluded my attempts at squashing. It jumped and hid behind some boxes.

A few days later the scene was repeated with the same ending as before.

I called in my help-meet for assistance, but he didn't fare any better.

Another day it alluded me by blending into our brown-patterned rug.

Then earlier this week Stephen appeared in my room while I was napping to inform me that there was a large spider in the basement (we have been inundated with arachnids lately), but I assured him it was only a cave cricket and he was free to kill it. When I went down to release them from "rest time" I found a pile of blankets, pillows, and toys piled against the door to our garage.

"Oh, what's this pile?" I inquired.

"We built a cave for Henry."

Nice. Instead of killing the enemy, they not only name him but build him a home.

Ever since, I've cautiously stepped downstairs, fearing those spindly legs jumping on me. But tonight, Henry met his Maker.

After soaking in the tub, I noticed the creature had slipped under the bathroom door. In a flash not-known to many 41+ week pregnant ladies, I scooped up the October issue of Country Living and ended that insect's life. I feel no shame; I have no regret.

Henry is dead.

Only wish I could say the same about his numerous relatives.