The Infamous Sydney Cockroach

Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore: Christa sees a cockroach on the ceiling, sighs resignedly, and returns to her reading rather than scream and run away.

Actually, I sighed resignedly, returned to my reading, then went into a routine of glaring up at the cockroach going "just come down here where I can reach you and we'll see just how tough you are", sighing resignedly, and returning to my reading. Several hours later the cockroach had worked its way around most of the room, I was fed up, got a chair, climbed up and tried to get the damn thing while it was still at the joint between wall and ceiling. I succeeded in making it fall straight towards my face, at which point it became rather obvious that my immunity to coackroaches only extends to those that aren't able to get onto my face, as I lept backwards, flipping over the chair and making quite a racket as I scrambled out of the way. As I inched cautiously forward I realised that I was wearing slippers and that I was not going to be able to crush a cockroach with my slippers. I ruled out using the pots and pans (wood floor you see), and I didn't think the library would appreciate cockroach remnants on its books, so I covered the cockroach with a plastic container and left it there until I got a proper shoe. I never did get one and ended up releasing the little guy at the back of the garden near the fence, in the hopes that it would invade the neighbour's place. It was the least I could do considering their cat uses our garden as a toilet on a regular basis. It was Laura's idea.

Laura is our new flatmate. PhD student in physiology.