The Roach

When I found a cockroach skittering from underneath a pan in my cupboard, I yelped, leaped back, and shuddered the full length of my spine. Then, I trapped it in a bread pan and watched it scurry between his four new walls. After a few days, I started feeding him lettuce out of curiosity. That was two months ago–and he is still in my kitchen.

One of the primary reasons I haven't killed it yet is because I don't own Raid. I would have to get in my car, drive to the store, buy Raid, drive home, and walk all the way back up my stairs just to spritz a little into the bread pan. Am I really that lazy? And more importantly, is laziness the only thing preventing me from murder? 

I have actually come to admire the little roach. He has survived within these four walls with very little food or water and no form of entertainment. It is like the most dire form of solitary, and he hasn't gone crazy. Goals. 

Maybe if I were still living in New York surrounded by close friends, I would have already killed him. But here, in Memphis, where things are a little weird and sweaty, apparently I'll keep him around for a couple months.

When you live alone, you discover many things about yourself, one of which is how you deal with bugs. You may think you know what you'll do, but when no one is around to watch, you may very well surprise yourself.