New Pet

Yesterday, I acquired a new pet. And then I killed it.

Say what?!

Let me explain.

I walked into my bedroom just in time to see a creature scampering across my carpet.
Well, let's be honest.
It wasn't scampering. It was scurrying. I had flipped on the light and it wasn't happy about it. It twitched its little antennae. And then fled behind my shoe rack.

A ROACH!!! I was horrified. I whipped out a Shaniqua-like voice and said
"Oh hell no! Not in MY house!"

Snap, snap, snap.

I sprayed the repugnant demon with Windex, then my magnificent cat cornered him for me and pawed him into submission. Then, I scooped up the horrific little bastard into a yogurt cup and maniacally laughed as he swirled down my toilet bowl. I imagined his tiny, crackly, roach-voice screaming. Which made me feel better because my internal, crackly, girl-voice had been screaming moments earlier.

Now don't get me wrong, I love creatures. Snakes are fabulous, slimy worms are fun. I'm okay with spiders. Mosquitoes are annoying, but I can deal with them. Ants-- a minor irritant. Scorpions are kind of terrifying, but fascinating. But roaches?! To the toilet!

I don't care if they're Miracles of Evolution (is that an oxymoron?). If Mr. Roach comes into my house, and he's history.

Ancient history.
Atlantis's history.
Down into the water you go.