Dear Oliver, I Forgive You for Eating the Rose. In Fact, I Forgive You for Every Rose You’ve Ever Eaten. And That Time You Ate the Last Piece of Homemade Bread I Was Saving. And That Time You Ate the Unopened Loaf of Bread I’d Just Bought.

He sure knows how to endear himself. Gosh, I love this cat.

Jesse was out of town this weekend, and last night I was up late waiting for him to get home. I was reading, when I heard a noise across the house. It was nearing midnight and I’d texted Jesse asking him to call me when he was close so I wouldn’t freak out hearing someone at the door. (The night before, I’d seen this odd man walking around our neighborhood I didn’t recognize, so I was just a tad jumpy.) So, hearing the noise, I went to investigate. Turned out to be Oliver, though I didn’t know what he’d been doing. He just crouched near the bathtub, looking a little wild, and I cocked my head and asked him what the heck he thought he was doing. I chuckled and left him to chase his shadow or whatever it was he was into.

Later, I heard more noise and I went to investigate again. This time, I walked into the bedroom and flipped on the light. A movement caught my eye and I turned toward the wall, where I saw a giant cockroach flit up the wall toward the ceiling. Keep in mind that our bedroom walls are a bright Creamsicle orange, the exact worst color to see a brown-black streak of bug scurrying across.

I yelled and ran out of the room. I was muttering to myself, angry that I was going to have to kill the roach all by myself, angry that we had a roach in our house to begin with. We’ve never had cockroaches here. Ants, spiders, earwigs, sure. But never roaches. Arg.

I grabbed one of Jesse’s shoes, which would give me the most surface area for roach-squashing, and marched back to the bedroom. Glancing in the room, I saw the roach near the ceiling, and I sighed, realizing that I couldn’t reach it to kill it, and certain that if I tried it would jump on my head and burrow into my hair (because that’s what roaches do, you know).

I left the room to regroup and strategize when I saw Oliver coming toward me, eyes wide open, body inching toward the ground, in hunt mode. My eyes widened and I wondered if it would work. I pointed to the bedroom and said, “He’s in there. Get him!”

If this were a movie, Oliver would have given me a subtle nod, but he didn’t, he just pivoted and ran into the bedroom. I couldn’t believe it. It worked! Then, I heard scuffing noises, the sound of paws on walls, the thud of Oliver’s body landing on the carpet and springing against the walls again. There were a few minutes of struggle, during which I texted Jesse to inform him of the drama awaiting him at home, and then Oliver walked out of the bedroom and sat on the carpet a few feet in front of me.

I looked at him, wondering why he’d left, wondering if he’d lost the roach. I was about to console him and encourage him to go back and try again. Then, he opened his mouth and something dark fell to the ground and immediately started crawling away.

I screamed, loud, and ran into the hallway. I clasped my hand over my mouth. It was nearly midnight, after all, and I didn’t want the neighbors to think I was being attacked or anything. I poked my head around the wall and saw that Oliver and the roach had disappeared again. I creeped out and found them both next to the front door, where Oliver was doing something that I could only assume was tearing the legs off the offending bug.

“Good boy! Good cat!” I called, pumping my fist and hissing yes! at my supreme luck at having a perpetually hungry housecat with good reflexes. Jesse’s shoe lay, discarded and unnecessary, in the living room.

After it was done, I gave Oliver a treat and praised him effusively. Jesse came home shortly after that, and I gave him the run-down. He congratulated Oliver, who looked quite smug, and put his shoe away. And then we all went to bed.