escalation

It had settled into a steady truce, my war with the invertebrates. The ants still had their run of the place, but they kept the hell out of my large new tupperware container and stopped going after things like cooking oil. The roaches kept to themselves during the day, hunkering down in the drains and corroded bathroom door-frame. At night, if they didn't bring too many friends, I let them run around a bit.

Everyone was happy.

...too happy.

Other guys wanted in on the fun. Like the ants, they were small, quiet, and organized, and even showed no interest in my peanut butter. But still they asked for too much. They wanted my furniture. They came in and started helping themselves. I could not see them, only the piles of sawdust they left. But I could hear them, quietly boring. My chair, if you put your ear up to it like the elves, sounded like a bowl of rice crispies.

Measures were taken. I bought some general purpose insect killer and applied it to the wood. I also got some ant and roach chalk, which you "write" onto your walls and floors in order to deter and kill bugs. I then drew all over the part of the chair with termites. I did not buy termite killer from Ace Hardware because it was too expensive.

I think they are still there.

But my actions were not entirely without consequence. The roach population has seen my surgical strikes as a clear declaration of intent throughout the insect kingdom, and last night sent out a guerrilla attack force. In the few quiet hours between the neighbors' late-night videoke and alarm, I was awakened by sharp, quick pains on top of my head. In a fluid motion I jerked my hand to my scalp, sat up, and flipped on the light, just in time to see him scurry behind my headboard. I had heard rumors of these tactics from friends but had yet to witness such atrocities perpetrated on my own person. My flip flop and I made a quick example of him.

But the battle lines had been drawn.