Mr. Cockroach,
We saw you last night, despite your stealthy location in the back of the cupboard under the sink. Last time we crossed paths you were bolder, crawling across the middle of the kitchen floor. Following your first intrusion, we took the appropriate preventative measures (e.g. wiping the kitchen counter with disinfectant every night, carefully storing all food in sealed containers, taking the trash out nightly). As you recall, we swept you out our front door with a stern warning to never return, which you have now chosen to disregard.
As an eight-month-pregnant woman with nesting instincts at their height, I consider your re-crossing my boundaries an act of war.
You may have heard from your friends in Arizona that I prefer not to kill bugs, but simply remove them from the house. This is true, to the extent that they fit in my Bugzooka and they don’t return once expelled. You are big, ugly, and gross, and you won’t stay out; therefore you merit an exception to my general rule of mercy towards bugs.
The traps are purchased and placed where you will not see them until it is too late. The drains are laced with roach killer. The garbage shoot, too, is now poisoned. You were fortunate enough to escape last night. Consider this your final warning:
Do not come back. You will die.
Sincerely,
Katie
