the domestic wildlife

Every night this last month, my flatmate, a well-sized palmetto bug, would zip through through the bathroom to wave me good night. Of course, he could be many, but I preferred to think of him as a survivor of chemical warfare. Last Thursday morning, I found my neighbor, belly up, between the toilet bowl and the sink and by the time I was awake enough to pick him up without turning green, he was gone. I briefly worried and wondered what had happened. Cannibalism? Or maybe he wasn't dead after all and had gone to visit his buddies down by the pool, rustling contently in the leaves...
Anyway, a few hours later I found him in the middle of the living room and when I picked him up, he wriggled between my fingers. Of course, I shrieked, dropped the thing and decided to wait until after I’d returned from my trip to New York. On Monday morning, strengthened by a healthy dose of NY resolve, I slipped into a shoe to step on him before disposing of the carcass--just to be on the safe side--but instead, my toes crunched a roach that had apparently moved into my left shoe... by the time the spray guy came for his monthly tour of my apartment, I basically rolled out the red carpet for him and knew it was time to go out and buy some cans of DDT or whatever its 21st century equivalent might be.