Close to Russellville is a town called Roachdale. I always got the skeevies from the name of that town, possibly because ummm, I hate roaches. When I read or hear 'Roachdale' I see this big roach family chilling on a porch or something. It's really not pleasant. Imagine my face when I found out that in the town of Roachdale they have an annual fair, and the highlight of the fair is, get this... a Roach Race.
Yes. A race ran by roaches. Here's proof.
I can hardly handle this. They can't think of anything else to race other than a roach? I know, town name. I get it. But seriously. I saw a sign for it along a road somewhere, boasting the event... and for a second I wanted to witness this, but like I said it was just for a second. I'd never get through the door. Tamrha and a fair where everyone is stoked over a race of roaches will never happen. Any roaches I've ever seen are ran away from or whacked with something hard. NY'ers really try to not hang out with roaches, even though they might be more plentiful in NYC than in Roachdale, Indiana. We don't get out the roach race track. We call the Orkin Man.
I wondered if they painted little numbers on their backs because otherwise wouldn't they get their roaches confused? Apparently, they do. Do they use food as incentive? Then I wondered if they keep these things as pets. Bulk up the losers for next years race? They don't. They kill them with insecticide after the race. Now, I may not love a roach, but this is wrong. The town of Roachdale uses these insects for entertainment and then gases them? Is there not an agency I can call? Maybe I'll call PETA.
As for the cat who knocks on the door. This is my cat Stella. Previously you read about me being creeped out in the country at night and tacking blankets against the door and stuff. Well, I've overcome! Not so scared anymore. Although I about chocked on my tongue the other night when I heard, against the glass door at 11:30 at night a 'tap, tap, tap' sound. A perfect knock. Like a ring on someones finger tapping against the glass door. Either that of the pointy tip of a knife. I look up, and there's Stella, just looking at me with an expression that said, "Uh, hi. Can you let me in?"
She's lucky I didn't pee myself with fright. And because of her genius, I granted her entrance to my abode. But I did ask her to in the future scratch at the door like a normal feline.
