I believe I have mentioned, in this journal, my feelings on ants once or twice. But have I mentioned lately how much I loathe and despise ants? No, I don’t just ‘not like’ ants. I hate them. With a passion that grows daily the more I have to kill.

They keep coming. Nothing I do deters them. We cannot keep the cat food bowls more than halfway full because the instant one of them gets filled to the brim, it is completely overrun. I have become paranoid about leaving *anything* that might attract them out where they might find it. Last night they swarmed the kitchen counters. I couldn’t spray all of them because they were milling around one of the electric sockets and I just didn’t want to have to explain to the insurance adjustor that the house burned down because I was killing ants.

It’s gotten to the point where the Raid can travels from room to room. It does not get put away. It simply sits on the latest counter until we have need of it again. I always know where it is, since I’m usually the one who used it last.

I have an official ‘ant rag’. It’s an old stained washcloth that’s pretty much falling apart, but it’s perfect for wiping up ants and Raid. I can’t leave the bug spray on the floor because it’s slippery, and because I can’t risk one of the cats traipsing through the stuff and then licking it off their feet later. It’s usually referred to in a manner like “Dear, can you bring me the **insert favorite expletive** ant rag? We have **insert second favorite expletive** ants again!”

I have kept reminding myself that it’s just ants, and it could be far worse. I keep reminding myself that this is a new house and we are bound to get bugs. I keep muttering that the benefits of having a raised foundation far outweigh the ants. I keep insisting that I can handle this – it’s not so bad; we don’t get them every day; there really aren’t that many.

Ha! As if last night’s electric socket invasion wasn’t bad enough I walked into the master bedroom and found the mother of all swarms! There were ants covering an area several feet wide, and the worst of it is, I have no idea what they were after!!

I sprayed. I wiped. The ant rag came back nearly black with hundreds of horrid little bodies. I managed to somehow talk my stomach into settling down and kept on grimly cleaning up the carnage.

This has gone to far. Tomorrow I’m calling exterminators. Surely one of them has *got* to be able to do something to keep the nasty little creatures at bay. If they can’t, I may just break down and scream.

I hate ants. I really, really, hate ants.

Sob.