Smoky Browns

Smoky Brown.  The name conjures images of an old blues singer from Mississippi.  He's big.  He's wearing dark sunglasses.  He's smoking a cigar.  His laugh shows that he could be friendly, but he's definitely had a life worthy of singing the blues.

That's the image that the name conjures.  Unfortunately, Smokybrown is the name of a 1.5 inch long flying cockroach common to many parts of the southeast.  They are not the biggest roaches in North America.  No, those are the American Cockroaches which can grow to over 2 inches long not counting their antennae.  Nor are Smokies the most dangerous ones--those are the German cockroaches which like to infest your food.  No, Smoky Browns are just simply the most common cockroach in our fair state.  How do I know?

The story begins a few days after we move in during the Spring of 2002.  Dave had gone back to LA to pack his condo for the move.  I was staying in the house for the first time alone.  About 12:30 a.m., I wake to Scarlett pointing at the wall by my head.  I know the posture. She's a bug huntress. She's telling me that there's a bug nearby.  I switch on the light and a humongous roach scurries up the wall.  Knowing I'm alone and I can't call for my man to do what needs to be done, I go get  my favorite can of the Kill The Fuckers bugspray and put that thing out of my misery.  Now I need to sweep it up.  I search for the broom and dust pan.  I see another roach running up the wall near the utility closet and then what I learned later to a camel cricket but looks and acts more like a hoppy spider jumps on my leg.  Have I mentioned my intense fear of bugs?

Three days into our new 1940's era house, I pull the bed to middle of the room, turn on all the lights and try to sleep with a bandana over my eyes.  Every few hours, I wake up, pull the bandana off my eyes and peer around the room looking for movement.  7 a.m. the next morning, I'm on the computer searching for what these enormous, evil creatures are.  And I'm on the phone to Angie's List recommended Killo Exterminators to come over and give a professional strength version of the Kill The Fuckers treatment to our house. 

So, Dave thought I was being wimpy with all my hysterics of the bug problem.  And by the time he moved in, they were pretty much gone, thanks to Killo. It wasn't until a few months later when I heard him shout "OH MY GOD!  It's as big as a MOUSE!"  that he finally understood that I wasn't exaggerating. 

So, why bring this up now?  Well, our Killo exterminator came last month.  And their treatments usually last for 3 months.  But on Sunday, I heard a loud, masculine shriek.  Dave walks into the study carrying his shorts.  He had pulled them out of the closet and a Smoky Brown had fallen out of one of the legs and scurried under the bed.  Yesterday, Patches was discovered in the kitchen attempting to herd one of them, but had only managed to flip it on its back---its blues singing legs waving frantically in the air. 

Something didn't work with the last exterminator visit.  They must return.  They must send Smoky back out into the leaves where he can sing the blues to his crusty little heart's content. 

8:30:51 AM