If you'd asked me what my exotic pet of choice would be any day prior to today, my answer would have been "platypus." Whose wouldn't be? But that was before the ants tried to take over my life.
At any given point, there are 10 or 20 wandering around the bathroom...or the hallway...or the kitchen counter "like drunks," as AK described it. I watched one walk in small tight circles on the TV-with-a-tablecloth-over-it that is our living room "end table" (side note: If you need a small, functional TV that just happens to turn everyone's lips orange, email me). So yes, they're drunk. Drunk on power.
The 10-to-20 groups are the ones we've started ignoring in order to conserve our energy for the armies that march in whenever one of the drunken scouts stumbles on a morsel of cat food, which is often, because we haven't successfully taught the cats to eat with bibs. In fact, between paragraphs one and two of this post, I stopped to wipe up a cluster of ants that had just found such a crumb.
As AK has pointed out during my scary anti-ant tirades, I take it all very personally. It's as if they're saying, "Hey, Cheryl, we believe you have nothing better to do with your time than stand next to the cat food bowls with a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels. All day. Because you're a loser, and your valiant attempts to keep your house OCD-clean mean nothing to us. We are here to make you realize that it is, in fact, your destiny to live in squalor."
But AK will be happy to know that I've finally found a solution. And no, it's not chalk, talcum powder, hermetically sealing every food item in our house, Combat Ant Killing Gel or any of the other things our friends have recommended to us. (All I can say is they must live next to more docile colonies. Our ants are guerrilla warriors used to years of jungle combat, and killing their brethren only makes them scrappier and more determined. They are the suicide bombers of the insect kingdom, without the suicide part.)
The solution, which I'm having trouble linking to (on www.cuteoverload.com) or posting a picture of because I'm on AK's Mac and I'm a Mac moron, is a PYGMY ANTEATER. Words won't do him justice, but let's just say he's about the length of your forearm, covered in fuzzy white down, has a gentle, benevolent smile and, most importantly EATS ANTS.
We've been trying to get Team Gato to earn their keep for years, but, as I mentioned above, they're part of the ant problem, not the ant solution. But our new pygmy anteater will quickly shame them.
Okay, it's pretty impossible to shame cats (Me: "Ferdinand, you've been sleeping in this exact spot on the bed for six hours." Ferdinand: "Fuck you"). But Antsy, as I've named him, will weave in between Team Gato while they eat, slurping up ants, being adorable, and reminding them that it wouldn't kill them to get out and audition for a cat food commercial once in a while. Just audition, that's all I'm asking.