But: two days later, I came home from work to find the little stinker hanging out on my counter. It was a quickdraw to-the-death as I reached for the Lysol spray bottle (with bleach√) while managing to keep both eyes on the Bug. I don't generally like using such harsh chemicals, even for cleaning, but I had heard that Cockroaches survived the fall of the dinosaurs and the last major ice-age and I was taking no chances. If he was going to be eradicated, Lysol had to be my weapon. He saw me place a steady finger on the purple trigger and take aim, and he ran for cover. As he ducked behind the stash of tea and the wooden cutting boards on our counter, I used my free hand to create a barricade. He had nowhere to go but back out in plain sight. He took a running leap for the sink but my aim was perfect. I sprayed a dozen blasts as he kept struggling against the current of the Lysol river that had formed along the counter's edge and the wall. I couldn't believe he was still moving! He was back-paddling as I continued to disinfect him. When the thrill of victory was mine and I had him in a ziplock baggie, I felt the slightest bit sad for the guy -- but letting one cucaracha take up residence is like offering to build a miniature Dubai for pests! So, rest in peace my fellow scrapper. I hope you didn't have children (for your sake, and mine).
"I know, I know! 'Twas The Cockroach, in The Kitchen, with The Lysol! I've done it! I've won Clue®!"

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