I hate roaches. All of them. Especially those big sumbitches that can fly, albeit poorly, for short distances. To add to the fun, I can't stomp them. The sound of their hideous selves popping makes me gag. Seriously. Ergo, Mrs. Erg handles the roach stomping duties in our house. She stomps while I walk away with my hands over my ears singing Goober Peas while she yells at me to quit the caterwauling but I can't hear her because I've got my hands over my ears and I'm singing Goober Peas really loud. During one period early in our marriage we lived in a detached garage apartment. It was like having our own little house. Downstairs we had a living room, dining room, kitchen area and upstairs we had a gret big, and I use gret big to indicate a somewhat larger than great big, bedroom with bath. One time when Mrs. Erg wasn't home I was upstairs when out walked an absolutely huge roach. He started climbing up the wall and I decided that there was something important that needed doing downstairs. As I headed for the door he came off the wall, aimed squarely right between my eyes. I fell backwards on the floor and he landed somewhere above my head. He was almost to the wall before I spotted him again. For some reason my flight reflex switched over to fight. But I still couldn't stomp the bastard. So I hustled into the bathroom, found some spray and headed back out to do battle. He was a few feet up the wall by then and I knew what would happen once he got enough altitude. So I hosed him down. With room freshener. It took a good long spray before I got him slick enough to fall off the wall. Once he was down I went in for the kill. And sprayed him some more. I don't know if he finally drowned or if he just decided that he liked the way he smelled but he finally quit moving. I reclined on the bed with a book waiting for Mrs. Erg to come home so she could handle the disposition of the body. Keeping an eye on the little reptile, as it were. After all, I have heard one pop and after a good long gag I saw the creature scuttling away. You can't trust 'em to stay dead.
Here end of Part One, Erg and the Roach. Part Two, Mrs. Erg and the Lizard, is a tale for another day. I'm fixin' to go have a lie down.