The Quietest Roommate

Living alone was peaceful in a way that sometimes felt suspicious. The toothpaste stayed where I left it, the refrigerator remained full, and no one made noise in the next room. At first, I enjoyed that order. After a while, though, the apartment began to feel too still.

One night I turned on the bathroom light and saw a cockroach near the wall. He stopped moving, and so did I. I could have reached for a slipper, but instead I gave him a name. That was probably the moment when he stopped being an insect and became my roommate.

I decided the bathroom could be his territory. He stayed mostly in one corner, never touched my food, and caused less trouble than many human roommates. We had a simple agreement: he could remain there as long as he respected the rest of the apartment.

A week later, I left town for work. When I returned, everything was exactly where I had left it, except my roommate was missing. I checked behind the door, under the sink, and beside the toilet. I was surprised to discover that I was genuinely worried about a cockroach.

Eventually I found him inside a small plastic bucket. My relief lasted only a few seconds because I needed the bucket. Our peaceful arrangement had reached its first serious property dispute.

I carried the bucket to the toilet, tipped him in, and flushed. The whole act felt strangely official, like ending a rental contract. Thank you for staying with us. Good luck with your future plans.

That evening I went back to the bathroom and saw another cockroach near the wall. There was no way to know whether it was the same one, but I decided immediately that it was. In my mind, he had returned.

I put the bucket back in its old place. The cockroach disappeared behind it, and the bathroom was his again. The apartment was still quiet after that, but no longer completely empty.