... finds me amazed all over again, when I walk into my kitchen, turn on the light and discover hordes of ants still roaming around on the walls. Possibly just as many deceased on the floor in need of the broom as there are wandering on vertical surfaces, which creates even more amazement. How can there be this many dead and still have dozens or hundreds or thousands on a walk-about in my house? Where can they possibly be coming from? As I was preparing more of my 'recipe' for destruction, I began to consider googling to see how quickly they can reproduce. But almost immediately concluded: I don't want to know. The idea of knowing, being able to document that these little insects can raise another generation faster than the actively moving adults can take bait back to their home is not what I need to hear.
Even though I have not written about this bizarre activity in a week, you should not assume that resolution has occurred. When there were no multitudes industriously walking across the molding up near the ceiling in the kitchen I thought: Yay! Success! Wrong! I had not seen dozens galloping along the top edge of the wall in several days and mistakenly began to think that I had won the battle. Ha! I did not even come out on top of a small skirmish, to say nothing of having the upper hand in an all out conflict.
There is a small workshop/storage room on the north side of the house, entry from the carport. Not much useful in there other than an auxiliary refrigerator/freezer and hand washing sink. But the ants must think they have reached the pinnacle of success. When I went out to get something from the fridge, I notice a steady stream of ants coming out of the hole where the piping for hot water heater goes into the sheet rock/wall. Upon discovery, I began putting out my little squares with bait around the hole and along their path to the sink. All I know to do is to keep trying, even though it looks like I am fighting a loosing battle. This morning, I find them back in the kitchen, trying a different approach, attacking from a new vantage point. Forcing me to get the step-stool out and tuck my little paper squares with drops of bait in different locations, easing the (hopefully) deadly concoction into their stream of workers as they head out from a new angle of attack.
Every single morning, I ask myself: Where? How? What is going on? Why me? What should I be doing to really resolve this bizarre-ness? Is the bait working? Why are there still so many? Is it time to think about moving all the furniture out and fumigate the house? Do the pest control people still do that: wrap an entire residence in plastic and pump in something deadly to put an end to the ongoing invasion?
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