It was a long day at work, made less agreeable by the persistent and draining Texas heat of summer.  When finally I arrived at home, I was already wiped out and sullen, lethargy having taken over my very being as the heat drained what little energy work had not already taken from me.  It was an exercise in pure willpower simply to get up the stairs leading to my front door.  I did eventually make it, dripping with sweat from head to toe and feeling much like I imagine a roasting turkey must feel after its flesh begins to cook in the extreme heat of the oven.  I stood in front of my own door and sighed.  Did I even have the energy to find my keys and let myself in?  I sure hoped so.

After rummaging in my pockets and locating the elusive key, I unlocked the door and stepped inside the glory of air conditioning, rapidly closing the door behind me in the hopes of avoiding more abuse by the heat.  I fell back against the door, sighed yet again — only much louder the second time, and called to The Kids to let them know Daddy was home.  With my eyes closed and unaware of my surroundings, I stood resting against the doorway while I absorbed the cool air and wished it to subjugate the sweat running down my face.

I inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly to bring rest to my weary bones.  I repeated those steps several times.  How tired I felt at that moment.  I was glad to be home for the evening.

Finding the energy necessary to even open my eyes and survey my surroundings, I realized only then that The Kids were not with me.  How unusual.  Normally, once I arrive home, even if only after I call to them, they surround me in welcoming fashion and ensure they each receive a share of the lovin’.  Not this time, though, and I found that curious.  I looked up from the desolate floor under my feet and looked about the house from my perch in the entranceway, glancing around the living room until I finally saw them: all four of them sitting in front of the patio doors looking outward, infrequently glancing back at me with a look that seemed to request something.  What are they up to?

As I stood momentarily in my position just inside the front door, my gaze fell upon each of the cats as they remained practically motionless.  What a curious event.  I watched them closely as they glanced quickly at each other, out the door to the patio, at each other again, down to the floor in front of them, and then back at me, all before repeating the process.

It occurred to me suddenly that prey must be involved.  The Kids knew I’d always be around, but prey was something that was fleeting and to be enjoyed while it was there lest the opportunity be lost forever.  As predators, they were so predictable.

Finding the strength finally to support my own weight, the sweat having disappeared in the company of the interior coolness of home, I was refreshed and feeling human again, less like Thanksgiving dinner baking away for hours.  Standing on my own two feet, I began my journey across the room to where my curiosity might be sated.  The Kids, fully aware of this movement, looked at me suddenly with anticipation and longing.

I moved slowly and deliberately toward them.  If some creature was indeed just on the other side of the patio doors, I dared not frighten it away with an abrupt arrival.  For that reason, my approach was methodical, the entire way marked with my queries to The Kids about what they had.  “What is it?”  “What do you see?”  “What’s outside?”  Their excitement grew in response to my approach and questioning.

Grendel spoke first.  He looked directly at me and squawked in a way that said he wanted something from me, something he was rather eager to get his paws on.

I giggled quietly, hoping not to disrupt them, suddenly realizing this was a hunt and they needed my assistance to get the prey within striking distance.  The smile on my face would certainly betray a father’s joy at seeing his kids demonstrate communal skills and adult behavior.  Sure, I’d seen them all hunt before, but this was a group effort.  Their success to date, however, would not deny appreciation for the help of a parent.

Loki called out to me, shouted at me for attention to his desire for help.  My own entertainment was growing.  The agony of the long day and Texas heat was far behind me, my mind already losing touch with the past memories of fatigue and stress.

Kako stood briefly, her tail snapping back and forth in anticipation and excitement as she too bellowed for immediate intervention in their plight.  She sat back down as suddenly as she had stood, returning to her anticipatory vigil with the others.

They all looked at me eagerly in response to my not so silent chortle.  I obviously had a lot to learn from them about stealth.  This brought the subdued chuckle into full focus resulting in a hearty burst of laughter.  Each of the cats immediately sat more upright, excited by my approach and impulsive joviality.  Oh yes, they want my help.  It seemed so obvious.  They watched me intently, rapidly glancing outside and to me then back again.

Kazon, his eyes dark with the thrill of the hunt, let out a broken, almost pathetic meow ripe with urgency and the childlike need for parental aid.  The smile I wore surely was ear to ear.

When I reached their location I immediately let out a disgusted “What is that!?”  Their distance from the patio door made perfect sense: scattered about between them and the glass were remains.  It was at first not identifiable as any particular creature.  In fact, my first guess would have been a small bug.  There was not much left; this I could tell before I leaned closer in the hopes of identifying the dead interloper.

Is that a leg?  Thoughts ran through my head with frightening clarity and rapidity.  This was once a living creature, but even then I realized there were scarcely a dozen pieces left.  One might have called it carcass remains were there so little of it left to identify.  There, that piece — perhaps part of a wing.  And that one could be a leg.  The one over there could be part of — Oh, yuck!  That’s its head!  This inventory of devastated biological pieces and parts continued for only a moment before all of the victim’s debris was located.

At first, I wouldn’t claim I successfully identified the corpse.  Well, it couldn’t be called a corpse in any stretch of the imagination.  There was so little of it left.  Despite this, visual inspection — sans touching — of what remained made clear to me that it had been a palmetto bug^[1].  A very large palmetto bug if its leg and head size were indicative.  The Kids had certainly been busy.

My heartfelt laughter sprang forth from within me, rising to decibel levels I was not aware I could achieve.  How very entertaining.  The Kids all began to talk and gesture and look in a cacophony of feline joy, pride, need, desire, and anticipation, my immediate presence an apparent invitation for their requests for help.  They glanced down at what was left of the toy bug.  I knew this look well.

“Daddy, we had this toy and it broke.  It wasn’t a good toy at all.  With only a little play its pieces began coming off until finally the whole thing was in shambles.  Can you help?”

I love my kids.  They can be so entertaining.  As predators, however, they can also be merciless, and perhaps I find as much joy in that as I do their friendly and loving demeanor.  It is a dichotomy of the ruthlessness of the hunter versus the love and affection of the companion.  At that moment, I saw both simultaneously.

Imagination in its most raw form could not picture the size of the beast, and that realization I based on only the initial inspection of the few body parts available.  Should its legs and partial head be a clear indication, The Kids had destroyed what might have been someone’s beast of burden, one large enough to be saddled were one to find such a thing worth doing.  My awareness of its enormity — its previous enormity, that is, before it fell victim to a pack of wild felines — gave rise to the immediate concern regarding the whereabouts of the remaining body mass that was not with the carcass debris laying before me.  Somehow, I already knew the answer to the query, and it at least fleetingly made me question the wisdom of letting any of The Kids ever kiss me again.

In my hasty disgust at the carnage, I seemed to have lost sight of the fact that the hunt was not over, that The Kids desperately wanted my help with something that heretofore I had not seen.  Still leaning over to inspect the biological mayhem they were disinterested in, I merely turned my head to look at each of them in turn.  This motion caused them to voice their need for assistance, one by one and in turn.  The incessant meowing rose forth as a sudden chorus.  Again I laughed.  Yes, they want my help with something.  I know those calls.  That’s a request for assistance.

I studied their faces one at a time.  They would look at me, say something, look out the patio door, murmur something under their breath, twitch their tail back and forth in anticipation, then look at me again and more loudly voice their need for my help.  I turned my head slowly and looked out the door to the patio beyond.  There, just on the other side of the door, already hobbled with two noticeable appendages missing and one wing horribly disfigured, was yet another palmetto bug, large, behemoth in fact, and trying desperately to act unaware and disinterested in the sudden death which waited just inside.  I laughed so hard that I was certain the bug would scamper away in fear.  It did not, although I realized it might have been unable to move quickly given its already compromised body and reduced leg count.  The Kids cried to me with overwhelming clarity.

“Daddy, this toy broke.  Can you get that one for us?”

“You should call the manufacturer and ask for a refund, Daddy.  This one was defective and it didn’t stand up to much play.  Still, we’d like that one now.”

“Daddy, do you think you can bring that other toy inside?  We’ve been good and we deserve to play with it, too.”

“This stupid one is broken.  It’s not fun anymore.  Hey, maybe you could get that one out there and give it to us instead.  Please?”

“You should get better playthings for us, Daddy, not these.  They break too easily and don’t last long.”

“These are fun even if they are fragile.  They run fast.  Can we have that one now?”

Yes, a menagerie of questions and entreaties was lobbed at me from all four of them, begging and pleading for an opportunity to play with that poor hobbled insect who somehow escaped the same doom represented in the not so tiny bits of body strewn about in front of the door, pieces that once in a while called for a brief swat or curious touch from one of The Kids hoping to spur it back to life for just one more chase.

This had been no hunt.  It was a massacre.  Somehow two very large — and by the looks of the still living example outside, I would say massive — palmetto bugs had made their way into the house.  With four cats, such a move is never wise or conducive to long life.  One of the interlopers had met with a ghastly end, torn limb from limb, partially chewed and consumed, and ultimately what little was left scattered about in front of the patio door, perhaps as a warning to anything else that might enter: Beware! There be cats here!  The second made its escape, perhaps saved by the sacrifice of its friend, but did not get out of the house before suffering horrible and irreparable injury.

I knelt beside The Kids and stroked them all lovingly, showering upon them kudos for a job well done, for protecting the home from invasion.  I laughed the whole time as their excitement grew in the hopes I would indeed retrieve the second toy from the patio.  I assure you, there was never an intention to bring that thing in the house.  Instead, I went to the kitchen and got treats for them, a congratulation for being such good hunters as well as something to get their minds off of what they really wanted long enough for me to dispatch the monster from the patio and clean up the debris in the living room.  I would never let anyone know of the horrible events that took place in my home that day.  No one should be allowed to fully comprehend the ruthless act of carnivorous ferocity inflicted upon the palmetto community by my not so innocent children.

Notes:
[1] palmetto bug: a colloquialism of the Southern United States referring to a very large cockroach, also called a waterbug.  Because it survives best in moist conditions, the largest examples exist near readily available water sources.  It grows to an average length of 2.0 inches (5.0 centimeters), although they have been measured as long as 3.0 inches (7.6 centimeters).  They fly, yet rarely can they demonstrate successful navigational skills in short distances (they’re clumsy).  Unlike their more common counterparts, cockroaches reaching this size no longer demonstrate fear of light.  They are also naturally armored due to their size and exoskeletal design (the size of their body increases the strength of their exoskeleton, and that advanced durability provides them with natural external reinforcement greater than the average roach).