Roaches, Rats, and Rage

One of my housemates spent the night in my room the night before last because she had seen a roach in her room, but it had disappeared before she could kill or capture it. She's terrified of roaches. I'll not mention any names, but it's not the married housemate.

The married housemate hates rats. (Well, who doesn't hate rats?) And we have a rat eating our pasta and leaving treats in our washing machine. I remained unconvinced of its rathood for several days. But when Sha assured us that she had seen something black with a long tail, we resigned ourselves to our fate. Well, no, actually we haven't resigned ourselves. We have set traps smeared with peanut butter, to no avail.

Days of rage are scheduled pretty regularly here. It seems like it's always the next one that's going to be the big one. Though the political climate is heating up, I have yet to see a day that I would term the big one. But we stay home and wonder and talk about it, then it turns out to be not much.

So roaches, rats, and rage. Sometimes it's the little things that can be the most ruthless.