After a cockroach killing spree last night with my houseboy, Safir, I woke up and found a dead cockroach feet up in the sink. Luckily, I had eaten my breakfast before seeing this.
Later the same day, I see Safir at work and tell him what I found. The conversation went a little like this:
“Yes, sir. I saw it last night.”
“Why didn’t you take care of it?”
“Sir, it was still alive when I was there. I poured soap on it and left it to die.”
“Hmmm.”
“Don’t worry, sir. I’ll take care of it later.”
I don’t think of it again until I get home, believing that either Safir or his cousin who lives with him will take care of it. I arrive home a little bit later and check the sink. My breakfast bowl has been cleaned and put on the drying rack, but the cockroach is still there.
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I’m just glad that I didn’t see any while we were there. I’m not keen on crunchy bugs. Is it gone yet?
I did dig down and get the dead thing out of the sink finally. Then it was conveniently taken apart by ants as it waited in the trash can. The crux being that I’m sure the bugs could overtake the human population if they worked together. Luckily, that isn’t such a cool idea anywhere on the earth right now.