Not a Cockroach in Sight

Grandpa Jack has made several studies of the cockroach. he told me that he had at least two different species infesting his bedroom alone and BELIEVE ME you don't want to live with either of them. The only good cockroach, according to Grandpa Jack, is a dead cockroach.


I take my chance and slip into the hall closing the door quickly behind me. Not a guard in sight. I turn the key in the lock-that should give me some more time. I turn round and gasp. The hall has a a ceiling twice the height of the giant twinkling, Christmas tree. Mounds of bright presents spill over the foot of a marble staircase. This is worse than I thought-the evil workers must buy themselves very nice presents as well. The sooner I rescue Grandpa Jack the better. There is a lot of noise and music coming from a room down the hallway but I run up the wide sweeping stairs. It is gone teatime and Grandpa Jack says that all the inhabitants are forced into their cockroach infested rooms by six o'clock. Upstairs, I creep silently along the thickly carpetted hall way. There are doors all along the hall. Each door has a little brass plaque with a name on it. I come to Jack Bagshot-that's Grandpa Jack's name. I knock. Nothing. I try the handle and psuh at the door. It opens onto a huge room with a cream carpet and a double bed and table lamps and piles of books and magazines and a wide-screen TV. He's even got a fridge.
And not a cockroach in sight.