There are two women, two ten-year-old children and one dog living in our house.

We are not a household known for our calm and measured response to wildlife.

So there I was, walking peacefully toward my bedroom to ask my daughter Vanessa a question, when I happened to glance at my pristine white bedspread.

And there it was.

THE BIGGEST BLACK COCKROACH IN THE HISTORY OF CALIFORNIA.

It wasn’t scurrying.

It wasn’t hiding.

It was strolling across the width of my bed as though it had just checked into a five-star hotel and was inspecting the room.

I screamed.

Vanessa came running.

The twins came running.

The dog came running and barking.

Nobody knew what had happened, but apparently we had all agreed that screaming was the appropriate response.

“GET A BOX! GET A BOX!” shouted Vanessa.

Of course, we didn’t have a box.

The only boxes were outside in the recycling bin.

So while Godzilla continued his tour of my bedroom, I ran outside, tipped the entire recycling bin upside down with an enormous crash, and rummaged through the debris until I found a recently discarded Amazon Prime box.

I returned to the house but had absolutely no intention of entering the bedroom again.

I handed the box to Britte.

“Give this to your mother.”

Britte bravely ran down the hall, delivered the box to Vanessa — and then apparently decided she had already exceeded her courage quota for the day.

She and William retreated to the playroom, locked the door, and took the dog with them.

I remained in the kitchen pretending to be completely calm.

I was not calm.

Meanwhile, Vanessa searched the bedroom.

Under the bed.

Behind the furniture.

Around the walls.

No cockroach.

It had disappeared.

This was considerably worse than actually seeing it.

Because now we knew there was an enormous cockroach somewhere in my bedroom.

And it knew where I slept.

I immediately began negotiating with Britte.

“Darling, Grandma may need to sleep with you tonight.”

Britte has a twin bed.

I did not care.

I was prepared to sleep vertically.

Then suddenly, from the bedroom:

“OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR!”

Vanessa came racing through the house clutching the box.

The cockroach had been captured!

She flew through the front door and ran down the street carrying the box like an Olympic torch bearer.

She headed toward the high school — which, in my opinion, was almost certainly where the cockroach had originally come from.

Then she stopped outside our new neighbor’s house.

Now, I don’t like to criticize the neighbors.

But this particular neighbor does not take care of his garden.

Weeds.

Overgrowth.

General jungle conditions.

In other words:

Cockroach heaven.

Vanessa opened the box.

Out went the cockroach, released into its luxurious new habitat, free to explore the weeds and mess of our neighbor’s front yard.

Vanessa sprinted home, slammed the door behind her, stood there for a moment completely out of breath…

…and then calmly picked up her iPhone and went straight back to her game.

As though none of it had ever happened.

The twins eventually emerged from the playroom.

The dog stopped barking.

I reclaimed my bedroom.

And somewhere down the street, one enormous black cockroach is probably telling his family:

“You wouldn’t BELIEVE the place I stayed at today.

Beautiful white bedspread.

Terrible service.”

Valerie biography and story list

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