Ants are a way of life here.
They invade your home, they set up nests everywhere. In walls, behind tiles, in door jams, in doors, in the metal tubing that forms the framework of our bed, in and behind cupboards.
Lately, we’ve found a few more unusual – to me, at any rate – places where they’ve nested.
The empty spaces that form a cardboard box. You know, the corrugated part. They nest in there. Yes, it’s true.
And in styrofoam. They ate out where they wanted their nest and set up a condo.
They wander around in straight lines, five and six or ten ants wide, all traversing the same trail. Hey, at least it makes it easier to kill ’em.
And I found a gecko carcass on the deck. Swarmed by hundreds of tiny ants.
I sprayed, of course, to kill the little buggers. (I can safely use that word here without any of the word’s ugly connotations, I do believe.) And I followed the trail in one direction to a hole in the deck floor, and then, when I followed the trail in the other direction, I found the other end in the electrical outlet.
After they all stopped writhing and I had the joy of cleaning up the dead ant bodies and the gecko carcass, I could see the ugly truth. That all that remained of the gecko, other than it’s eyes, was its skeleton. The rest had been eaten away or carted off by the ants. Just a tiny, fine framework of bones, much like fish bones, were left.
That’s all.
DIE GECKOS DIE!
Oh, wait. Don’t geckos eat ants?
So now, I have to decide whether I’d rather have the ants eat the gecko or the gecko eat the ants? Who do I want at the top of that food chain?
I . . *gurgle* think *gleshmpcht!&* that *#$@!!* [/simulation]
