Before I started the indoor projects, I put on my grubby shoes and carried my clippers, garden knife, and broom out to the front garden to do a little weeding. A little weeding turned into a lot. (And I use the term garden very loosely.) Luckily, the ground is loose and lush, damp from yesterday's rain, so the stray grass and dandelions were easily uprooted with a little prodding from my garden knife (which is really a small, serrated tree saw). In an hour I had created a dozen piles of weeds and dirt. My back was aching, the sun was getting warm, and I had had enough. I dragged the big green rolling compost bin out to the front sidewalk. I filled the whole thing up, swept up the dregs with my decrepit straw broom, and wheeled the bin to its home on the gravel road, not far from the three metal pylons which are positioned to block drunk drivers from missing the turn and driving their cars onto the front porch of the duplex next door. (Long story.)
Then I took a bath, fixed the sink, and started brewing the poisonous concoction that I hope will rain destruction on the ant nests in the vicinity of my kitchen.
I know I said I wouldn't talk about the ants anymore. But I must tell you that I'm re-reading the few books I have from David Gerrold's the Chtorran series, and it's giving me serious pause. The Chtorrans are alien invaders, shaped like very large and voracious pink worms, who are not friendly neighbors. In fact, they are taking over Earth. Humans are hard pressed to survive. All their attempts to control the infestation are failing, and things are looking bad for the human race. Are you seeing any parallels here? Substitute small ants for large pink worms, and you get my drift.
A few days ago, I really thought I had the ant problem licked. I sprayed the kitchen counters with white vinegar (as suggested on someone's blog), and after an initial spurt of interest by roaming marauders, within a few hours, the counters were clear of ants. Amazing! I was feeling optimistic. Maybe I don't need the Borax bomb option.
Then I opened a cupboard, spotted a marching trail of ants, and followed them to their destination—the plastic bottle of honey that has stood quite innocuously in my cupboard for at least two years, probably longer because I rarely use honey. For some reason—and it's probably the same reason that prompted this years' crop of ants to seek out my old bottle of mouthwash and my stale menthol cough drops—the honey was suddenly a desirable target. Then I realized, these ants are way smarter than me. They had me fooled, they lulled me! False sense of security! Trojan horse! They disappeared from the countertops to fool me into dropping my guard. Then the pesky little guerrilla soldiers found a hidden path to their objective, weaving above my tea cups, out of sight. Argh!
After I nuked them and dusted their trail, I cleaned off the honey and put it in the fridge, vowing to turn their love of honey against them. All I needed was a tablespoon of Borax...
And then, suddenly, the counters were clear again. For two days, the kitchen was miraculously free of armies. A few scouts, easily sniped with my dusty paintbrush... once again, I was sure I had somehow gained the upper hand. Had they finally given up? Had the rain driven them away? Or the dust? Or the fact that there is nothing left for them to eat except well barricaded cat food and composting scraps in my bucket? (And my neck, of course.)
I actually bought the Borax today as insurance, thinking I probably wouldn't need it, that the ants had moved on, they were once again just doing their thing, scouting the premises and reporting back to their generals, no, nothing here, sir. All clear.
And then today...
I was lounging on my green shag carpet with my cat, competing for the little bit of sunlight that came through the window in the front door. Suddenly I spotted movement over by the wall. Oh, no! I ran for the dusting bucket, brandishing my paintbrush like an AK-47. My cat sat some distance away and watched curiously as I daubed the ant brigade with diatomaceous earth powder. Then I lifted up the edge of the carpet. A trail! Where are they going? What the—? and then I found the neat pile of cat barf, just under my dusty exercise bike, where the cat had left it, probably sometime during the night, judging by its color and condition. The ants were loving it, an indoor picnic on a green shag carpet.
I heated up the honey in a pan with a tablespoon of Borax and some water (and yes, I washed the pan well afterward). I poured the mixture into plastic tubs, poked holes in the lids, and taped the lids on tight. I used a marker to draw a little skull and crossbones on each container. Poison! Danger! Then I deployed one under the sink. The other two I placed outside in the dirt under my kitchen windows. Just in time to be diluted by a huge rainstorm, now that I think about it. Oh, well. I have more of the poison, in a jar in the fridge. Chemical warfare has commenced at the Love Shack. Enter at your own risk.
Tomorrow I'll get back to work. Right now the war is on. When I started this post, I found an ant on my monitor. Just now I found one on my keyboard. They are after my passwords, I imagine. It's only a matter of time before they drain my bank account. Leave me. Save yourselves. These ants are taking no prisoners.
