I once caught a cockroach with a box grater. Exposed when I moved a bottle of vinegar, it ran across the work surface, brushing a pile of grated carrot as it went. It was a badly lit corner in a dark kitchen, and I was horrified, which made my accurate slam all the more miraculous. Alerted by screams, my flatmate arrived in the kitchen and threw a tea towel over the grater while we shouted options at each other. In the end, she held a copy of National Geographic level with the counter, so I could slide the grater across and onto it, the creature clinking against the moving metal. She then opened the window. But as I went to flick, it crossed my mind that the cockroach might cling to the magazine, metal or tea towel, so, after a glance, I threw the whole lot into the courtyard below.
Two flights down, and relieved we hadn’t hit anyone, we found that the magazine and tea towel had landed among some neglected pot plants, while the grater had met the concrete near the bike racks. The resulting dent wasn’t bad enough to make it unusable, just unstable, and the deformed corner was the one between the slicing mouths and the vicious side I never used anyway. Back in the flat, we threw away the carrot, wiped everything with bleach and went out for a sandwich.
