I’m not easily scared. Adventurous, impulsive, and always ready to fight for my beliefs, I like to think fear and I have an understanding. Turns out, fear was just waiting for the right moment—and the right demon-prawn—to remind me who’s boss. Lemme set the scene for you.
The downstairs patio, about a metre above ground level, has a railing fortified with mesh to keep Thando securely inside. He’s a scaredy-cat around other felines, and can often be heard wailing at the top of his lungs when another cat ventures too close. Despite his fears, my chonky ginger Houdini still finds a way out, leading to a series of wildlife offerings I never signed up for.
As a cat mom, I’ve learned to accept the occasional lizard—or its unfortunate remains—but a Parktown Prawn? Come on!
I mean, have you seen these things? Wikipedia calls them “crickets from hell,” but that feels generous. Mother Nature clearly had an off day when she cooked these up. Picture a palm-sized exoskeletoned demon with Olympic-level jumping skills and a stench that could clear a room. Why do they exist? To ruin lives?
Winter had lulled me into a false sense of safety. Thando’s over-the-railing exploits were harmless enough—just some late-night meowing outside my window to let him back in. But then summer arrived, and with it, the bugs, and Thando figured out how to get himself back in, thus securing his freedom.
Last week, in the wee hours, I woke to the sound of something rattling the blinds. Thando is many things, but he doesn’t ruin furniture or jump on counters. His middle-of-the-night zoomies—sounding like an adult male stomping up the wooden stairs—are as bad as it gets. (I suspect my adjoining neighbour thinks I’m a lunatic. Aren’t cats supposed to be light on their feet?)
Anyway, I knew something wasn’t right. My daughter had slept over, so naturally, I woke her up too. Misery seeks company, after all. Half-asleep and freaked out, we hatched a plan involving a brick (procured by my very reluctant daughter). After a chaotic game of furniture hopscotch, the prawn met its demise under the brick. The stench and ooze? Unforgettable! 1/5 stars—do not recommend.
A week passed with no incident, and I dared to believe we were safe. Then, yesterday morning, taking a toilet break, I faced off with an especially large prawn on the bathroom rug.
My first thought was to grab my phone so I could send my daughter evidence of Thando’s latest gift (and curse her for not being able to assist). I also snapped a photo of him lounging upstairs, feigning innocence. But as I stood there, staring at the demon-prawn, I knew I couldn’t repeat the brick situation. The nightmare of crunching, oozing, and the stench was too fresh.
I briefly considered trying to catch it in a container, but the thought of its furious jumping put an end to that. Then, my intrusive thoughts offered a new idea: What if I sucked it up with the vacuum? What could go wrong?
Upright vacuum in tow, I turned it on and aimed the pipe behind the laundry basket where the prawn had taken refuge. The prawn jumped. I screamed. Chaos erupted.
Let me confirm what Wikipedia doesn’t tell you: not only can these hell-crickets jump a metre into the air, but they can also do so with incredible speed, fueled by what I can only assume is rage. Suddenly, it felt like I was surrounded by prawn demons.
Just last week, I shared a meme of Sigourney Weaver clutching a ginger cat in Alien with my work team, joking that her battles mirrored my everyday life. And now, here I was, teleported into the movie, fully embodying her character.
My full bladder long forgotten, I climbed onto the bath and the toilet, cornered in a 2x2m space. Armed with desperation and my vacuum, I made a clumsy, joust-like attempt to crush it. On my second try, I hit the demon with the roller brush underside of the vacuum (my screaming drowned out the sound of the vacuum I forgot it was still on).
You know that satisfying clickety sound when a vacuum picks up debris? Well, a Parktown Prawn makes the same noise as it is minced by the vacuum. Victory! Except…the stench!
Wikipedia describes this as “offensive black faecal liquids.” I describe it as “Satan’s own air freshener.” Either way, it filled the room and came blowing out of the vacuum. Yay, no more critter. Not so yay, the smell now lives in my vacuum.
Said vacuum will remain in the middle of the house—a monument to my survival and my refusal to ever clean it.
As for Thando? He’s officially on notice. If you need a cat with a flair for delivering nightmares, I’m happy to rehome him.
