As I'm sure is no surprise to anyone who read this blog while I lived in Spanish Harlem, I have a serious roach phobia. This goes beyond your typical "ew, gross, get it away from me" reaction. I can sometimes go into full-blown panic attacks when I see one, although thankfully my reactions have grown less and less severe in recent years. This is helped by the fact that I have a guy at home to kill bugs full-time. I am a feminist, but I still believe that men need to make up for their privilege by eradicating my home of insects.

This weekend, however, it was just me at home. I was looking forward to spending my evenings drinking wine and watching movies that Adam would hate ("No Reservations," "The Notebook"). As I was getting ready to curl up for a nice evening of cinematic emotional manipulation, I saw it - a roach leg, lying on the living room floor. It was just the leg, and I knew immediately that of the four mammals living in my home, only one is casually sadistic enough to pull the leg off an insect and call it a day - Kiko the cat.

This would not the be the first time Kiko had brought a roach inside. In Arizona, we have these ginormous roaches that live outside, and one afternoon Kiko bounded through the dog door as happy as could be with one these winged bundles of evil in her mouth. My trusty household bug-killer sprang into action, squishing it and scooting the remains into a bush.

Admittedly, I was afraid this would happen. There is really nothing I would rather my cat would stop doing than bring roaches in the house. She could be synthesizing methamphetamines for sale to school children, and I would look the other way if it meant I could be guaranteed a cockroach free existence.

But anyway, this leg. It was like some horrible threat from the mafia - "Give us what we want, or we'll send you the rest of this." The rest of the weekend was spent on high alert, ready at any moment for the appearance of the now-disabled roach, which in my mind had taken on the proportions of a silverback gorilla.

Currently I am in my bedroom with towels stuffed under the door, just in case. I never claimed sanity. Adam comes back tomorrow morning, and I will task him with a thorough inspection of the house for the intruder. And hopefully I'll be able to stop sleeping with the light on and one eye open...