My ancient soulmate

Nancy and Star agree on almost everything. Has anyone even seen them in the same room together. See? I thought not.

But Star likes Archy, the Typing Cockroach, and Nancy thinks roaches, even the poets, could use a good mashing. I am on the fence, personally. I am a little jealous of the Arch-Man—he invented animal blogging, basically. There is never anything new under this old sun, is there?

Archy’s peep was a newspaper reporter named Don Marquis. A competitor of his had a rat who could type, but never completed a story (so typical). This—Marquis wrote—gave him the courage to reveal the presence of Archy, a chipper little scarab (as a talking mummy—this is good stuff, I tell you—once referred to the little six-legger).

“We came into our room earlier than usual in the morning and discovered a giant cockroach jumping about on the keys,” Marquis explained in the first of many columns starring Archy.

“expression is the need of my soul, archy had typed.
i was once a vers libre bard
but i died and my soul went into the body of a cockroach
it has given me a new outlook upon life
i see things from the under side now
thank you for the apple peelings in the wastepaper basket
but your paste is getting so stale i cant eat it.”

For you consarned cat lovers, Archie also had a feline friend, a blowsy type named Mehitabel. He was also against Prohibition, long story.

You can read more of his ravings at

He can’t work the caps key, though, the little vermin, and I can. So there.


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