There's a roach in my toilet, dead. Found it on its back near the garage door this morning. When I bent over to pick it up by an antenna, I braced myself for the possibility that it might still be alive, that it might curl and crawl around when stimulated by the wadded tissue I pinched between my fingers, but, no, it was truly dead.
Even the toilet's cool water didn't rouse it. I'm standing here stunned, looking at the roach. This roach just will not flush. I can't decide if I should try flushing the toilet a fourth time, or if I should lay a fresh square of toilet paper over the roach before flushing it, a kind of paper lasso to hook it and drag it down. What if the roach escaped, Lazarus-like, from even this toilet paper snare? What would that say about me?
