Salvador Dali walking an anteater. But of course! They appeared out of nowhere yesterday on my crumb-free, clean kitchen counter, slowly milling about near the food compost pail. It was like looking down at a dysfunctional marching band from the cheap seats in the stadium. Tiny black ants unresponsive to finger squishing – I had to use the back of my nail – and, I discovered after shaking a paper towel of supposedly dead ones into the sink, resistant to drowning (I don’t believe they survived the garbage disposal though…bwahaaaahaaa!). Immediately I removed every item from that section of the counter (including a sugar bowl, which you’d think would be wildly popular, but apparently this species has discerning tastes and snubbed their miniscule proboscises at New Stevia) killing any strays that had wandered off from the band. There was no sign of them above the sink in the vinegar and oil cupboard, nor beneath the sink. I cleaned everything with bleach, kept a vigilant eye out, thumbnail at the ready, and for the rest of the day I suffered from Delusional Parasitosis, (thank you Internet!) that feeling that your skin is crawling with bugs. I scratched my head like a flea-bitten animal; I clawed at my arms and legs until my skin was red. It’s happening again right now as I type. Because although there was no further sign of the wee pests yesterday afternoon or evening, this morning when I was in my most vulnerable state of pre-coffee, just-tumbled-out-bed-to-feed-the-starving-attention-deprived-cat, they were back.
The cat alerted me. She was standing near her wet-food bowl and she meowed in a different tone than usual. A “What is it, girl? Is Timmy down the well?!” type of meow. I reached down to get her bowl to wash before feeding her, and low and behold, the leftover food I thought she was being too picky to eat was being devoured by carnivorous ants. I was instantly awake and grinding the intruders and cat food in the disposal. I returned to the scene and smashed the ones who had either had their fill of Friskies or were fashionably late to the party. Again, it was as if they appeared from nowhere; there was no trail, no conga line to outside. I saw a couple near the floorboards, and stationed myself on the kitchen floor with my cup of coffee, reading glasses on (they’re so small!) waiting to ambush them. I got down on my belly, ant-eye level, to stare at the red Marmoleum for signs of movement, iPhone beside me as it occurs a picture would be nice for the post I’m writing in my head. Apparently they are camera shy.
I fantasize about having a mini-anteater for a pet, and wonder how soft they are, for petting and cuddling purposes. (Tangential research reveals that anteaters are extremely unsocial, yet check out this description by Jeff Corwin where he “…rhapsodizes about the anteater’s ‘angelic face … Its dense pelage is as soft as cashmere and has the color of golden honey. It even smells nice, like clean linen.’ Meeting the ‘angel of the forest,’ Corwin was euphoric: ‘This mysterious, almost magical creature sends my heart aflutter each time I have the rare privilege to set my eyes upon it.’”) Wearing my readers I see just how dirty the floorboards are, so I clean some more. I recall a dream last night where I was vacuuming a friend’s house, and wonder if my subconscious is telling me to clean my own house better. Nah. I think these are Antbots.
How diabolical would that be? Antbots! Able to infiltrate easily, indestructible and they drive you insane…even when they’re not there. But of course, there’s no such thing. (Except for this!) It’s getting chilly here on the floor, where I’m still sitting, though now with my laptop, thinking about micro-bots and magical anteaters. I haven’t seen any invaders for a while now, so I think I’ll go take a hot shower and scrub my skin until it shines.Then I'll come back and re-nail the baseboard to the wall.
The cat alerted me. She was standing near her wet-food bowl and she meowed in a different tone than usual. A “What is it, girl? Is Timmy down the well?!” type of meow. I reached down to get her bowl to wash before feeding her, and low and behold, the leftover food I thought she was being too picky to eat was being devoured by carnivorous ants. I was instantly awake and grinding the intruders and cat food in the disposal. I returned to the scene and smashed the ones who had either had their fill of Friskies or were fashionably late to the party. Again, it was as if they appeared from nowhere; there was no trail, no conga line to outside. I saw a couple near the floorboards, and stationed myself on the kitchen floor with my cup of coffee, reading glasses on (they’re so small!) waiting to ambush them. I got down on my belly, ant-eye level, to stare at the red Marmoleum for signs of movement, iPhone beside me as it occurs a picture would be nice for the post I’m writing in my head. Apparently they are camera shy.
I fantasize about having a mini-anteater for a pet, and wonder how soft they are, for petting and cuddling purposes. (Tangential research reveals that anteaters are extremely unsocial, yet check out this description by Jeff Corwin where he “…rhapsodizes about the anteater’s ‘angelic face … Its dense pelage is as soft as cashmere and has the color of golden honey. It even smells nice, like clean linen.’ Meeting the ‘angel of the forest,’ Corwin was euphoric: ‘This mysterious, almost magical creature sends my heart aflutter each time I have the rare privilege to set my eyes upon it.’”) Wearing my readers I see just how dirty the floorboards are, so I clean some more. I recall a dream last night where I was vacuuming a friend’s house, and wonder if my subconscious is telling me to clean my own house better. Nah. I think these are Antbots.
How diabolical would that be? Antbots! Able to infiltrate easily, indestructible and they drive you insane…even when they’re not there. But of course, there’s no such thing. (Except for this!) It’s getting chilly here on the floor, where I’m still sitting, though now with my laptop, thinking about micro-bots and magical anteaters. I haven’t seen any invaders for a while now, so I think I’ll go take a hot shower and scrub my skin until it shines.Then I'll come back and re-nail the baseboard to the wall.
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