Under The Toaster used to say of humans, “if someday creatures a hundred times their size gassed them — pffft — like they were mindless, heartless, unfeeling flecks of flesh, put on earth only to annoy them?” Shoebag’s heart broke remembering his father’s tirades against the human race. Ever since he had come flying out of the Dustbuster, into the kitchen wastebasket, he had wondered what would become of him, alone in this place, without a family or another roach anywhere in view. How could he think of being Bagg again? Why would he want to become the very enemy who had uprooted his family’s home, invented a noxious substance like Zap (which had nearly killed him), and through the years stepped on his kind, designed lethal Roach Motels for his kind, and always looked upon any critter from roachdom with loathing? Still, one thing cockroaches were known for was loyalty. Gas them, they would return. Smoke them out, they would be back. Tear down their buildings, they would remain in the neighborhood.
