I think it was a Periplaneta americana (commonly known as a yurghy cockroach), although we are not anywhere near America – the Yanks probably imported it to Africa (sorry, Bobz).
Fortunately, my panic-stricken screech, as I almost dropped the water glass on the floor, brought a gallant knight galloping to my rescue. Instead of the traditional sword, or even a can of Doom-spray, though, he was clutching a Tupperware box.
It took our coordinated efforts to move the assorted kitchen paraphernalia (kettle, coffee-maker, water jug, teapot, Chai-tea-tins, old wrinkly apple, super-long incense sticks for the garden, Tuffy’s brush, a bottle of blue flocculant for the new water tank, a glass jar of Tuffy’s kibbles, etc.) across the counter top in an intricate sequence of chess-moves, before the entire space had been cleared so that the offending creature had nowhere left to hide.
Then, just as it tried to scuttle to safety, Richard tossed the box over it with an impressive flourish, trapping it underneath. Either this was pure coincidence or consummate skill. I prefer the latter.
Then he carefully slid a sturdy-ish envelope underneath it, followed by the lid of the box, as the envelope proved unexpectedly flimsy after all. Oops… almost…
The trembling damsel in distress had meanwhile unlocked the side door, and switched on all the lights in the garden so that the brave knight could rush outside to the compost heap, where the creature had probably come from in the first place.