Those of you who were around in June (or who have a backspace key on your computer) may recall the first ant attack of the season. This afternoon we found that they had not vanished but had merely gone down the road and gotten reinforcements.
It's 3:30 AM (even time, not writing time) and I wake up with a start to find The Cat sitting at my arm giving me The Stare.
The Stare is catspeak for get up something is not right, which is between The Gaze that means get up something is not right my tuna plate is empty, and The Glare that means get up something is not right the house is on fire and my water dish is empty you choose which I am most upset about.
For reference, if you're truly interested in the linguistics, there is also The Glare+Claw, The Glare+Scratch and the Glare+Knead, each possessing its own level of urgency.
But no, I am lucky. This is just The Stare. I yawn and grump myself awake. Oh Mistress The Cat how may I serve the this dark morn?
About that time I feel an oh-so-dreaded tiny tickle on my arm, and I flail blindly for the touch-on lamp. The Cat has brought me an example of her concerns, bearing a tiny red ant scout (possibly a deserter) for my immediate attention. Turns out there are plenty more where he came from, so that rapidly-deaded soldier won't be missed at roll call. I flail not-so-blindly with my other arm, flinging the ant against the wall, where it lands with a teensy thud and falls to its demise (I hope).
A quick frantic check reveals that I am not inundated with ants, despite the immediate sensation of being completely covered by the beasties. I bat the thousands of imaginary ants off of me as I attempt to levitate to my slippers, shaking the bedding madly and shuddering in revulsion.
The slow black plodding ants of the earlier invasion were manageable. Those I could catch, stare into the face and order off my property, with judicious application of Lemonade Crystal Lite, cinnamon and baby powder. (It didn't hurt to have a lethal dose of outdoor ant nest spray applied, either). I could bully them into leaving, and leave they did.
But THESE are the fast moving commando red variety, so who knows what square inch of the floor is safe. Stealth ants. SEAL team ants, rigorously trained to withstand all attacks, break down barriers between closet and sink, retrieve their targets, leave threatening notes, and vanish in a matter of hours. In teensy black helicopters and flotation vests if necessary. They laugh at my pathetic attempts with Combat ant traps, snicker as I sprinkle the cinnamon and baby powder, and hoist each other up the barricades to get from the bathroom to the kitchen.
I judiciously turn on every single light in the house and pick up my trustworthy Maglite flashlight, just in case. The Cat continues The Stare as she observes my preparations, then stomps off in the direction of the back bathroom, pausing to make sure I am following. I adjust my flak jacket and trudge on obediently. Into the fray, brave lads! Into the fray! I pause to pick up the spray bottle of distilled water, just in case. Just in case of what, I am not at all sure, but it strikes me as a wise maneuver at the time.
Eight perfectly formed columns of red ants wind their way around the base of the commode, along the edge of the bathtub and under the bottom of the door that leads to the pantry and kitchen. They march in silence, stalwart and brave, following orders none but they can hear. Focused and swift, their parade makes a sharp 90 kick-turn at the edge of the dryer and follows the terrain with expert precision, then 90s back west across the face of the washing machine and around the flour bin. There, the ranks break into a less orderly melee, as troops wrestle with two flax seeds and a monstrous chunk of Purina cat chow which has fallen from The Cat's dish. Progress is being made.
As I watch in silence, trying to maintain my own hidden position, I'm spotted! Two of the columns break off and head toward my ankle. I panic and attempt to leap backwards, narrowly missing The Cat's observation perch and nearly sending her flying into the next room. Pandemonium ensues as I make my run for it.
Holed up in the safety of the storage room, we discuss our options. The Cat points out that these are very teensy creatures and she can probably take out most of them with one swipe of her furry paw. I warn against that, given that they are heavily armed and legged. Not to mention they will send back spies in her tail, which will end up where I sleep.
She acquiesces and settles down for a nap while I plot our strategy. FIre-bombing is right out. The surrounding house would take collateral damage we can ill afford to risk. The Cat yawns in agreement and rolls over. As she snores, I notice yet another strange tickling, then a solid painful nip. I'M HIT!
I brush the attacker off in anger and rally the troops. We're going in, and we're taking no prisoners this time. I caution The Cat to remain behind, which she does, since she is sound asleep. Armed with the Maglite and trading the spray bottle of water for an insecticide soap (indoor-pet-friendly - ant-hostile), I creep from my hiding place near the file cabinet and make my way back to the point of entry.
As I round the corner and take aim, I notice that the show of force has dwindled somewhat - two columns replace the former eight, and both are in retreat. I fire a warning shot and duck back around the corner, then sweep back around, firing twice more for effect, as the last of the stragglers break ranks and fall over one another to get out the dryer vent.
The Cat awakens, rounds the corner and surveys the damage, nodding in approval, then daintly licks my ankle clean, removing the dangerous poison.
She surveys the rest of the damage and declares that I'll live, with proper rest and care. Well, that part is accurate - even with her careful ministrations, I am pretty badly bitten from toes to knees, and have about five nasty bites on my arm where they got past the defenses and nipped before I could fling them off.
The Stare turns to The Gaze as I am dismissed for the evening and can now return to sleep if possible. Since I am now itching from shoulder to toe, the odds are slim.
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