MindSpinner

A couple of days ago, the first ant appeared in my kitchen, in the sink. It was not a small ant. It was brown and measured perhaps 3/8″in length. I figured it had wandered in by accident. It was lost. I would put it outside. I tried to catch it in something, but it was too quick for comfort. A few attempts later, it had slipped down the garbage disposal. “Too bad, you’ll have to get yourself out,” I thought. Or maybe I actually said it.

When I opened my back door to visit the garden early yesterday, I realized that my ant was no wanderer; he was a scout, and he wasn’t lost at all. As soon as I cracked the door, two dozen ants poured into the kitchen, like eager shoppers when the doors open on the day of a big sale. Mercy was no longer applicable. This was an invasion. I stomped, though a few ants made it past and were later to be found scurrying when I lifted a plate on the counter. One stuck his head under the flour canister and held very still, pretending to be a brownie crumb.

The second time I went out the back door, the same thing happened. Another huddle of ants was bunched up against the door just waiting for it to open. I stomped again. Then I decided to try something. I swept up all the broken bodies and put them in a little heap just outside the door. It was meant as a message: this way lies death. I watched until another ant found them - he grew agitated, checking the bodies again and again, waving his antennae and his little forelegs as if he were saying “Oh! Oh!”

I went about my business. I did not open the door again all day.

This morning I bought ant spray at the grocery and carried it with me all the way around the house to kill the ants from the outside without letting any more in. There were no ants. Not one. I sprayed around the door frame for good measure, but the deck was deserted. I think we’ve reached an understanding.