“Island Life (With Uninvited Guests)”

Living in Tenerife comes with plenty of perks—endless sunshine and mild temperatures. Nights rarely dip below 18°C, and days hover comfortably around 24°C. Ideal for humans… and, rather inconveniently, absolutely perfect for cockroaches.

I’ve long accepted the occasional uninvited guest. One rogue cockroach now and then? Fine. We coexist. I see you; you see me. We silently agree to pretend this never happened.

But lately… things have escalated.

It started innocently enough. While munching my toast one morning, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. There it was, a cockroach, bold as brass, sprinting across the kitchen floor like it was late for an important meeting. It made a beeline straight for the sanctuary under the fridge, that sacred realm where crumbs gather, and humans fear to tread.

But I swear, it paused.

Just for a split second.

Long enough to glance back at me with what I can only describe as pure disrespect. If cockroaches could smirk, this one absolutely did, or at the very least radiated that exact energy before vanishing into the darkness like a tiny, six-legged supervillain.

Naturally, I sprang into action.

Well… “sprang” might be a slight exaggeration.

I lunged towards the nearest plastic container—the universal weapon of choice. But deep down, I already knew. This was a losing battle. By the time I had the container in hand and crouched down like I was about to film a nature documentary, the kitchen had gone still.

Too still.

Gone.

Vanished.

No doubt, halfway through writing a scathing review of my reaction time on whatever platform cockroaches use to rate humans. (“Two stars. Slow. Would invade again.”)

I stayed there for a moment, peering under the fridge, container poised. This, I thought, is what it’s come to. Me versus a creature the size of a thumbnail—and somehow, it has the upper hand.

But that encounter changed everything. This is no longer just pest control. This is psychological warfare. Because now I know they’re watching. Waiting. Judging. Possibly organising.

And the next morning, confirmed my worst fears.

I walked into the kitchen, flicked on the light, and chaos. Not one, not two, but three cockroaches scattered in different directions like guilty teenagers caught sneaking in after curfew. One shot under the fridge, another made a break for the dishwasher, and the third just vanished in a way that frankly defies the laws of physics.

Brilliant. He’d invited friends.

I suspect the recent weather is to blame. March brought an unusual amount of rain. Streets flooded, drains overflowed, and I can only assume it disrupted whatever underground empire these creatures were happily ruling. The result? They packed their tiny bags and relocated… to my house.

Unacceptable.

Armed with determination (and a healthy amount of disgust), I set out to reclaim my territory. After some research, I got my hands on a special glue-like substance that cockroaches are supposed to hate. I applied it along skirting boards, near entry points, behind appliances… anywhere I imagined they might sneak through. 

Now it’s a waiting game.

Will this completely rid the house of cockroaches? Let’s not get carried away. Living in a climate like Tenerife’s means they’re basically part of the furniture.

But if I can reduce sightings from a full-blown social gathering back to the occasional, slightly awkward solo appearance… I’ll take that as a victory.

For now, the battle continues.

They may be fast. They may be smug. They may have claimed the underside of my fridge as their headquarters…

…but I have a plan.

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