at The Locker Room, the mansion i live in with Jake Neal, we got some roaches. big dogs, little dogs. black, brown, black and brown. some high, some low. one named Mary Jo.
they mostly kick it in the kitchen, but they have been known to crawl in bed with us or skitter through a young lady's hair, laying eggs no doubt.
on a whim, i put down some roach traps from a dusty box with a picture of James Madison on the side, so they must be old.
there were only 3 left. i put one on the kitchen counter, one under the sink, and one in the corner where Jake's room and my room meet, so that the roaches who play favorites will all have an equal distance to death.
last nite i thought that i had been seeing way less roaches. i wanted to say something to jake about it, but i didn't, for fear of some joke at my expense. (why would there be a joke at my expense for something simple like that? do you even know Jake??) about 15 minutes later, Jake made a comment about seeing less roaches. it must be so, then.
anyone got an opinion on roach traps? do they work? our shit was HECTIC for a while there. is it a weather change? the fact that we are keeping the AC at 65, runnin around in sweaters with hard ass nipples? is Izzy Da Kat eating more and more bugs since we have not given her any kibbles since June? i would love to think that three little translucent black poison boxes the size of a matchbox car could single-handedly bring down the gang of street toughs that have been terrorizing our neighborhood all summer. thoughts?
No comments:
Post a Comment