After two days of 90-degree sticky July weather in New York City, a thunderstorm was on the verge of breaking. Eager for the storm to begin, I headed over to my bedroom window when I heard some rolling thunder in the distance.

As my feet hit the rug, I saw a big dark spot sail across the floor. I thought, for sure, that I was experiencing a head-rush of sorts. Certainly there couldn’t be a roach, spider or water bug that big.

I was mistaken. I did a double take as what appeared to be a hybrid of a roach and a tarantula vanished under my bed. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep knowing that Ms. Roachula was resting comfortably, setting up her home, underneath me.

I concluded, by the way, that it was a female because I remembered years ago, my mother said that if you see a bug, spider, etc. crawling around the house it was a female looking for a place to lay her eggs. I shuddered as I thought of an entire batch of bouncing baby roachulas playing in my apartment.

I grabbed the can of the deadliest bug spray ever made which I keep in my bathroom for just such an occasion. I hurried back into my room.

No Ms. Roachula.

I retreated into the living room while gripping onto my bug spray. She would no doubt make an appearance again and I wasn’t going to sleep until she did.

Within five minutes, I became restless and got up to go back into my room to search for her. As soon as I stood up, Ms. Roachula brazenly stomped out of my room and headed straight towards me. Her feet made a “click, click, click” sound on my wooden floor as she marched. She may have been wearing high heels.

As thunder echoed outside, I began my attack. I unloaded a stream of the deadly spray on Ms. Roachula with a long, point blank flow.

She was white with the stuff after a few seconds. I stopped. She clutched her heart but then ran towards the closet and tried to slip under the door.

“Don’t even think about it!” I commanded, as I picked up a box of kitty litter liners and pushed her away from the closet. It was then that I realized that one of the benefits of having a cat is that cats kill bugs. I looked up and spotted my useless cat sweetly sleeping on my bed.

I unleashed more spray on Ms. Roachula.

She rolled over dead, or so I thought. I ran over to the paper towels and wiped up some of the excess bug spray off of the floor. To my horror, Ms. Roachula’s legs began flailing in the air.

Lightning flashed while I threw the sopping wet paper towel onto her. A clap of thunder shook the apartment building. As if strengthened by the oncoming storm, Ms. Roachula’s legs slowly pushed the heavy paper towel up and off of her.

I covered her with more spray, ran back to get more paper towel, wet the paper towel with water to add weight to it, dashed back and tossed it onto Ms. Roachula.

Afraid that she’d crawl up my arm, I didn’t dare pick Ms. Roachula up with paper towel, so I got my dustpan and began to sweep her onto it.

I could have sworn I heard a teeny, tiny giggle as she escaped the dustpan and rolled onto the floor with her legs waving. I picked up the box of kitty litter liners and swiftly dropped them directly on Ms. Roachula.

“There!” I yelled with great hostility.

But Ms. Roachula would have none of it. She slithered out from under the box and climbed victoriously on top of it (and I think she did a little tap dance). After another few seconds of more poison, I got the nerve up to sweep her onto the dustpan and race her over to the toilet shrieking, “Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew!” Finally, I dropped her in the bowl and desperately flushed.

“Well, now I guess I done murder,” I said, quoting Scarlett from Gone With the Wind.

I flopped onto my bed and cuddled with my cat. As I lay there relaxing, I heard a little splish-splash coming from the toilet.

Lightning struck and the electricity went out.