Walk softly and carry a big can of Raid.

But of course that never is that, which is why when I was scouring the bathroom and lifted the rug by the shower, a roach the size of half of my hand (all right, this might be a slight exaggeration, but it wasn't a miniature, either) scuttled up the wall. As expletives did nothing to deter it, I found myself en route to H.E.B., trying to think hardy Texas thoughts like, "All right, it's time to cowboy up, even if this is my first rodeo."

When I got home the roach and I had a little heart-to-heart, John Wayne style (not that I've seen any of his movies, but he had showdowns, right?). I will say this: it is never fun to watch something struggle for its life and lose, no matter how vile, foul, or repugnant it is. After all, cockroaches are pretty remarkable creatures, and it's not like we get to audition for our role in the food chain. Immediately after vanquishing what appears to have been the last survivor of yesterday's treatment, I duly tormented myself by reading online articles about whether cockroaches can feel pain (apparently they can, and it's probably best not to dwell on that).

On a more palatable note: