The death of a cockroach

I was going to write about a cockroach I found today. Isn’t that gross who’d want to write about that? But I was thinking about it which gave me the thought to start the whole blogging thing.
I went to the store today and when I came back I came upon a very large cockroach laying on the kitchen floor.
I know at the time I came upon him he must have just realized that he had made the tragic mistake of entering the kitchen of cockroach death. He was laying on his back ( I realize that it could be she, but come on, it’s a roach) twitching his legs, moving his head back and forth ( that was gross) and I imagine attempting to take his last breathes.
I screamed in horror when I noticed him, not realizing at first that he was in the throws of death. ( throws of death, is that right? It's probably spelled differently) I ran and grabbed my spray Clorox bleach and spritzed him a couple times to make sure he wasn’t getting up again.
Then I very nervously used a whole bunch of paper towels to pick him up, ( You have to use a bunch so you don’t feel them inside) and flushed him down the toilet.

Which started me thinking. Why don’t cockroaches have friends and family to help them? Why didn’t one of his friends say, “Hey! Don’t go in there! She has stuff that’ll kill ya!” There are so many of them you’d think they would help each other out. Maybe they do in some ways that I don’t know and don’t want to know. But I just find it sad that no one warned him. Of course, maybe they did. Maybe his mom told him not to come here and he thought he was being all cool and independent and grown up, and then he ended up dead.