Over the years, the cockroach has appeared in my writings exactly nine times, the last of which, concerning the most recent lawsuit filed against me by the mayor of Motovun, is just a week old (“A Complete and Total Cockroach,” October 27, 2009). Out of a bit less than ten-thousand pieces of writing penned over nearly thirty-four years, this is not very often. Going through the nine pieces with some care, I reassured myself that most of the references to the cockroach are rather neutral, but some are outright positive, and one of them is no less than enthusiastic. 

Take “God Bless the Rugged Cockroach” (September 16, 1989), for example. It celebrates a new species of cockroach that has almost miraculously adapted to modern technology. In only about half a century, it has developed an enzyme that helps it digest the plastic coating of wires in electrical and electronic equipment. Add a little bit of heat that such equipment produces, and the clever cockroach is more than happy with its new environment. Quite a feat, it goes without saying. 

Although mildly satirical, “Evelyn” (July 20, 2007) is another piece that celebrates the rugged insect. Here I write about the memoirs written by a cockroach. The book quickly turns into a bestseller, and it is soon translated into all major languages. In a short while, the insect turns into a media star of world renown. Known under its penname, Evelyn, the cockroach eventually becomes one of the best read authors ever. 

“Nostradamus” (March 12, 2005) goes as far as likening all humans to cockroaches in a neutral sort of way. Differences admittedly exist, but they are only slight. The same or similar neutrality can be found in several other pieces of writing: “On Technique” (January 22, 1981), the oldest of the pieces in which the cockroach makes an appearance, “The Ghost of Jules Renard” (May 29, 1992), and “The Favorite National Insect” (April 3, 2002).

Perhaps the first piece in which the cockroach is not presented in a favorable or even neutral light is “Scurrying about Frantically” (November 30, 2002). Here I am touching upon a childhood pastime of which I cannot be very proud so many years later. Together with a friend my age, I used to burn cockroaches with the help of crystal lens and sunshine. Half a century later, the acrid smell of their smoldering carapaces came to me out of the blue when a friend’s hair briefly caught the flame of a candle. Amazingly, the smell was identical, thus pointing to our common origin.

“The Cockroaches” (December 5, 2007) turns out to be the only piece written over so many years in which the insect is depicted disapprovingly, so to speak. “Cockroaches scurry away when the kitchen light is turned on,” I write in connection with the moribund political scene in Istria and the rest of Croatia. This was an anxious call for more freedom of the media, I suppose. At any rate, this is the only piece I have ever written in which the cockroach appears in a negative light, as it were.

All in all, the most recent lawsuit brought against me by the mayor of Motovun obviously runs counter to my own feelings about the cockroach. A brief acquaintance with my magnum opus is sufficient to show that this is the case. More often than not, it is clear that I am quite impressed by the resourceful insect. Therefore, calling someone a cockroach is far from an insult for me. In fact, it may be understood even as a tribute of sorts. At least in my own mind, the cockroach is someone to be.