Roach Wars

I'm at war with the cockroaches in my apartment. They're probably the only beings (except Republicans, ha ha) that I feel willing to kill. Even ants and fruitflies, I don't kill - I just think, what if I was that ant, wouldn't I want a large mammal who has no vested interest in my death to be merciful and leave me alone? I still feel that way about the cockroaches, actually. Especially when I start chasing one, and I can see how hard it's running, trying to get away. It's so sad, killing something that wants so much to live. I wish I could communicate with them and put up a big sign in cockroachese, "Please go away. If I find you here, I'm going to have to kill you. Please just live somewhere else. And don't reproduce so much."

(I guess that's also what a lot of other species on earth would like to say to humanity.)

The only sure way to do it, I've found, is to use your bare hands. If you start casting around for an implement or taking your shoe off, that little thing is going to get away. You have to just pound em the minute you see them. Sometimes with the bigger ones, this is a bit daunting. You can feel the crunchy splatter as your fingers crush through the exoskeleton. There's a fine line between striking as soon as you see one, before you lose your nerve, and going into jungle-cat hunter mode, unblinking, maneuvering to get the right angle and cut off escape routes. I am getting good at it.

But in the end, they will win the war, because they always do. In fact, by killing every roach I see, I'm probably just selecting for a super-powerful roach that will actually be invisible.