But the kittens are not particularly neat eaters, and so they knock food out of the bowl to places where the ants can get to it.
And when the ants can get to it, they let all their friends know, and they have a freakin’ ant party and bring their thousands of friends. Fred thought before bedtime last night that he had the window caulked so that all the little cracks under the windowsill where the ants were getting in were completely caulked shut, and yet at almost midnight the spud came and knocked on my door to let me know there were a ton of ants in the kitten room. I went in and sprayed ammonia on every one of the little bastards, and they died almost immediately, and then I had to wipe them up.
This morning, more ants.
For the love of god, it’s CAT FOOD. If I buy a bag of it and toss it in the yard for the ants, will they stay out of the house? PROBABLY NOT.
Oh, and I spent an hour wiping down the baseboards with white vinegar last night after dinner, and the ants were not deterred.
They can keep coming, but I will KEEP FIGHTING. I WILL BE THE VICTOR, DAMNIT!
Also, there are little cinnamon footprints around the food bowl, because little Sugarbutt gets SO HAPPY when he’s eating that he has to dance around in the cinnamon and then drag it all over the room.
I guess I’d rather have cinnamon footprints all over the room than poo footprints, though. I’m not complaining.
* * *
My hand, which was bitten by Ashwin on Monday, is perfectly fine and requires no medicine. It did break the skin, and it did throb for the rest of the day, but when I woke up on Tuesday it wasn’t sore or swollen, or red.
No hand amputation for me!
* * *
I drove up into Tennessee yesterday morning to buy Powerball tickets. The Powerball jackpot, you might have heard, is up to $340 million. And then I had a dream that I won the lottery Monday morning, and if that’s not a sign that I need to go buy lottery tickets, I don’t know what is.
Anyway, I drove up across the Tennessee state line and stopped at the first gas station I saw in Ardmore. The parking lot was packed, and I parked and went in, and there were at least fifty people in the ticket line, and I said “Oh HELL no” and turned around and walked out. I knew that there were gas stations further up the road, and for that matter I could hop on the highway and head for Nashville and surely find a gas station selling Powerball tickets with fewer people in line.
Two miles up the road from the first place I stopped, there are two gas stations directly across the street from each other, and both were selling Powerball tickets. I turned into the one on the right side because it didn’t have scary bars on the windows, and when I walked inside, there were only four people waiting in line for lottery tickets.
So I waited less than five minutes, got my tickets, and headed for home. When I passed the first gas station I’d stopped at, the parking lot was even fuller than it had been when I’d stopped. Dumbasses.
Fred and I spent a good twenty minutes discussing what we’d do if we won the lottery, which – according to the laws of Fate and all – means that we won’t even come close to winning.
It’s probably more fun dreaming about what we’d do, than it would be if we actually won, anyway.
If we win the lottery – exterminators for everyone!
* * *
The kittens are doing well. The ant infestation isn’t bothering them at ALL, though my coming into the room while they were sleeping last night at almost midnight, wielding a spray bottle of ammonia, might have scarred them a little. But they’re fine, they’re having a lot of fun playing and jumping in and out of the boxes in the dining room and playing with bubble wrap and standing in the kitchen whining about how they’re starving to death when I’m making dinner.
Fred has been calling Tom Cullen “Stinky”, even though Tom Cullen doesn’t stink at all. I don’t know if that’s going to end up being his nickname, only time will tell.
Right now, on my desk. To the left of me:
To the right:
When there’s always at least one cat within reach, life can’t be all bad.
* * *
Previously
2004: More Myrtle Beach.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: I’ve turned into a crazy cat lady for real, haven’t I?
2000: The spud turns 12 next week, can you believe it?
1999: I’ve been out of sorts all day.]]>