Archy had been threatening bloody insect revolution for decades.
'I'll take the bugs of all the stars and tell the of my plans', he would say, 'and fling them with their myriad stings against the tyrant man'. But nobody ever took him very seriously - he was only a cockroach, after all, and worse than that, a poet.
So despite all the warnings, 'the tyrant man' never really believed he had anything to fear, and nobody knew quite how to react that summer when the ladybirds finally attacked. The free-verse cockroach had been quiet for some time; if he was involved at all, he must have felt humankind had been given more than enough warning. Had it been the wasps or the horseflies, perhaps the humans would have hit back with a decisive counter-attack - after all, their co-existence had never really been peaceful, so all-out war would not have been such a great leap. Coming from these seemingly placid, polka-dotted friends of humankind, such hostility was much harder to take. All too often, o