I must be getting soft.
I have eliminated three bugs today and have felt slightly guilty about about them all.
The first around 5pm today. I sat on the carpet, typing away at the computer. As I have no current computer desk I've grown accustomed to sitting on the floor.
While comfortable at times, mostly I think I'm further developing my carpal tunnel syndome and a nice hunch back to boot.
My left hand lay resting upon the carpet as I felt something brush against. Initially I thought nothinng of it, crediting the light air brush to nothing more than carpet fibers, or the soft blow of cool air from the window unit.
But the sensation occured again. This time I investigated and found a small roach/beatle-like creature lurking under. I didn't bother to ascertain the species or its' overall being but instead quickly stood up and grabbed a napkin. Off to the toilet and to it's demise.
I immediately felt something I had never experienced before in this context. Compassion. My dad had a part-time business as an exterminator as I grew up and I was always thankful for it. I rarely had to deal with outside pests in the home.
I quickly overcame any remorse... as expected.
Later this evening it began to rain. Whilst between drinks I visited the bathroom once or thrice. And there we met. It was lurking on the trash can. I should have just found an easy way to let him back outside. It was definitely an outdoor tree roach. Not one of those you-have-food-and-now-I'm-your-new-best-f
Instead I rammed the trash can into the wall. Mind you, this was the same trash can it had been clinging upon. The perfect adjacency to the wall.
I seperated it from its' two hind legs and bits of its' back section as well.
Enter immediate guilt.
I felt bad. Truly bad. What an awful act to perform! This feeling was especially accentuated by the vile creatures' circular scurry for safe haven.
I felt the only proper action was to put it out of it's misery. After all... the damage had been done, no?
Roughly 4 hours later, before I head to bed, I venture back into the bathroom and lo, another tree roach. Yes, I should have taken the high road but instead...
I grab the can of hairspray I have almost never used and spray profusely. It runs and runs and I continually spray. Occasionally scurrying into cabinet crevices and other places I cannot reach.
But eventually it emerges. The antennae are swirling and the feet and jumping toward any safe shelter, albeit all this movement in a disoriented fashion.
Alcohol tends to have that effect.
Eventually I corner it again and this time have ample opportunity to pick it up (with a paper towel of course) and send him to a water grave. In he drops.
Now I have performed this act many a time and on many a different occasion. As I'm sure everyone who reads this can relate, it was very well second nature to push the old handle down. Be it by hand, foot or telekineses. I relayed the task as always.
The water went down.
My friend did not.
I tell you, I have never seen a roach swim like this one did. He survived the flush and was ready to get out. I appluaded his effort. I related it to human strength and the sheer will to persevere. But it was also about to escape again.
A good dousing of toilet cleaner did the trick. The toilet needed the clean anyway. Suddenly it's movents ceased and my guilt, once again, increased.
Again, I had killed.
I should probably find all the passages they are coming in through and immediatly block them but.. company is company, right?
Even if they can't stay for dinner.