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I once heard that my fear for cockroaches shall end when I become a mother.  When a mother sees a ka-zua scuttering across the floor, she would think of her child and crush it under her slipper without blinking an eye.

So it happened on Thursday afternoon.

We don’t have cockroaches here.  There might be a few in the city but out here in the countryside, it’s the rodents that breed and run free.  (Nice excuse to own a cat)

I was in the bathroom about to strip and take a shower when I spied a baby shrew clumsily scurrying over the uneven lawn towards the house.  Mice do that I heard, when the weather turns cold and a warm house is the best place to tide over winter.  I dashed out in my red rubber boots to meet it and without hesitation, centred my right boot steadily above and gave it a firm, deadly stomp.

I guess on some level I’m psyched for motherhood.

(The last time I encountered a rodent was last Spring.  I caught it gingerly between my gloved hands so I could bring it home for the cats to play with. It died anyway, probably of heart infarction.)

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