The Marauders

Groggy from sleep, I turned on the kitchen light and screamed. They marched single file across my floor. The first, big and bold, allowed those that carried a loaf of whole wheat bread, an unopened jar of peanut butter, a spreading knife and stack of napkins to move to the front. The ones coming after, feelers twitching, strode behind their leader with silent purpose. I had Florida palmetto bugs, better known to the rest of the world as huge roaches. (We use them for travel when our airplanes are over crowded.)

I grabbed a broom, beating and stomping my way down their line to no avail. As I approached each nasty bug, he darted aside at unimaginable speed, falling back into formation when I moved past.

Minutes later exhaustion claimed me and I sank wearily into an aluminum kitchen chair. My eyes followed the unending procession from inside the left sink out into the hallway and beyond. Like a bolt of lightning the thought struck me - the left side of the sink, the garbage disposal!

Nimbly avoiding my rush across the room, roaches continued undeterred to wherever their destination might be. I cast a glance inside the sink where bug after bug wiggled through the protective rubber edging. Wicked, evil, delighted laughter erupted from my lips as I turned on the cold water and the disposal simultaneously. Tiny shrieks, cut off prematurely, managed for an nth of a second to overpower the noise of their destruction.

Realizing they lost some of their members, the troops paniced and scattered, abandoning their booty. The glass jar shattered on the unforgiving tile floor, spreading knives clattered in its wake while the whole wheat bread landed with a soft plop on several victims. Pity it wasn't my homemade variety; they would have died immediately from its sheer weight. The store brand merely slowed their exit. The leader, refused to leave his men, er, roaches. He turned back to pull one from its healthy grave.

I laughed manically while unplugging my Swiffer vac and switching it on. Crispy shells of stunned bugs crunched under my dancing house slippers as the compact machine slurped up crippled bodies. Brazen, bold stares shrunk to beady eyes filled with stark fear. Pandemonium raged in my midnight kitchen.

The beasts fled for electric sockets, demonstrating a remarkable ability to flatten their bodies and squeeze behind the plastic plate covers. Others pushed smaller ones aside to slither between the floor and baseboards. I reached for my hand vac with its skinnier mouth. A few remembered they had wings and rose to the ceiling. They became fodder for my heavy-duty roach swatter. It was no contest.

Adrenalin sped me around the kitchen, swooshing, slurping and swatting with gay abandon until not a black, brutish creature remained. Victorious I let an old Viking shout of victory, adding a word or two of my own.

"Wake up, Maggie. Honey, wake up." A super bug held my shoulder in its grasp and shook me awake to stare uncomprehending at my husband.

"I won! Where's that big bug? I'll show him. Where'd he go?"

"Honey, you were dreaming. Settle down and go back to sleep. Want anything? I need a drink of water."

"No, I'm fine. Good night." I sighed with relief knowing it had been a dream. Plumping my pillow, I snuggled down to sleep.

The slap, slap of Bruce's feet across the tile ended abruptly. The next thing I heard was his horrible, horrible scream. . .