Over the years I've learned to trust my cat. If he's on the counter, I tell him to get off, and he gets off.
If he doesn't get off, I know him well enough to know that there's a good reason. Like he's looking at me with that same cat expression he always has, but I know he's thinking, "Trust me, I'm allowed to be here right now."
Ok, let's do this.
We silently coordinate our efforts. I start moving appliances off the counter until the intruder is exposed. It's a cockroach, a big one. It scurries. Bucky swats, stunning it. He gets it in his mouth for a second, but it's gross so he spits it out. Once it's disabled, I finish it with a shoe.
Mountain of treats. Glorious victory.
Alternate ending: it escapes under the fridge and Bucky stands guard for three days waiting for it to return. He knows his job.
