morning vampires

This morning I was awakened by a nibble on the neck.

Not so much a nibble as a bite. The strange thing is I was alone. Or so I thought.

It turns out my cheaply-won affection was from a large cockroach in my bed. I had no idea they would bite people.

But I know very little about cockroaches. Some people say cockroaches do not exist where they live. Unless they grew up in Antarctica, they simply may be not very observant.

Cockroaches exist in Oregon, but most of us do not see them very often. Unless you spend a lot of time in the woods, where they can be seen with all of their other exoskeleton clan.

The first inside cockroach I saw was in the Kenilworth Hotel in Miami Beach during the 1968 Republican convention. I pulled open the shower curtain to use the tub only to discover that it was already occupied by the largest insect I had ever seen. (One of the few things I got from that trip was the idea for a pseudonym -- Sanford Kenilworth -- that I used for years to write commentaries.)

A quick search of the internet reveals my early morning tryst was not unique. Cockroaches, being omnivores, like meat. And human flesh -- even of the living -- is on their menu.

But that is supposed to happen only due to cockroach overpopulation when no other food is available. Of course, there is always the possibility my bed-mate may have been the Hannibal Lecter of insects.

Considering the number of scorpions (and now a human-eating cockroach) that have shown up in the living quarters of the house, it may be time to find a reputable exterminator to spray for likely suspects.

Or, I could just leave matters as they are, and have extra grist for the Mexpatriate mill.