DIANE MAKAR MURPHY Dealing with invasion of pests drives me batty

There they were, a dozen of them, lurking in the shadows. Light made them scurry like ants among canned vegetables ... probably because they were ants among canned vegetables. My canned vegetables. My cupboard. Ugggh!
Spring is here, with its inevitable invasion of pests. Unfortunately, my home is a battleground. With the carpenter ant battalion marching through my kitchen, Phase Three of Nature vs. Murphy begins.
Starting out
Phase One occurred two weeks ago when we found a baby mouse in the basement -- dead center of an open space on the concrete floor -- his body so small, and his head so huge, he couldn't even crawl. How he got there is a mystery.
"He fell from a mouse nest."
"Maybe his mother was carrying him."
"Do mice carry their babies like that?"
"I don't know. Monkeys do."
We finally settled on, "Zeke brought him in." If a cat can do it, why not a dog?
Besides, Zeke has a prior relationship with mice. At our last house, one summer, I found John's work boot, which had been stored on a shelf in the basement, filled with dog food. I dumped out the food, replaced the boot and kept a regular watch over it -- simultaneously placing humane mousetraps in the basement.
After a month, I forgot about it. Then, when moving a living-room couch cushion to vacuum, I found another pile of dog food, this one 3 inches high.
By the time we found the third pile of dog food in a closet, I wanted to catch the rodent because I wondered what Mighty Mouse looked like. He'd made hundreds of trips from Zeke's bowl (the only place dog food was available) to his hiding places. Hundreds! Which begs the additional question, what was man's best friend doing while a mouse (or heaven forbid, mice) were running Dog Food UPS?
And that brings us back to the possibility that Zeke carried in the mouse without hurting it. At any rate, the baby mouse died that night, despite my daughter Hannah's diligent effort to feed it and keep it warm by the light of a desk lamp. So, I suppose humans won that battle (unless you think the baby mouse had at least two parents and a few brothers and sisters somewhere in the vicinity.)
The next step
Phase Two: About once each year, this being the time, anyone entering the basement is likely to get beaned in the head by a flying ant.
We don't know where they come from or why they disappear after a few weeks, but we know they love to bang their heads into the fluorescent light fixture, drop to the floor, flop onto their backs, flip over, take flight and whack into our heads again.
They're drunk pilots who die upon the floor.
"What," I ask repeatedly to a God who has much more significant questions to answer, "is the point?"
If we had any clue where they come from, we might spray or bait or whatever, but we don't. And so, each May, they arrive like swallows returning to Capistrano; I vacuum them up at the end of each day.
Where we are now
And now, we enter Phase Three -- the carpenter ants. You can't truly understand the significance of bugs near my food without understanding me.
First, I DO NOT believe in killing things (Note: There is still a huge disjunction between my philosophy and my behavior, and every pest invasion reminds me of my extreme hypocrisy).
Second, I have an out-of-control, fight-or-flight mechanism. Put a bug on my hand and you can run the lights in Youngstown for a year.
Third, as a teenager in an Army barracks in the South, I was traumatized by roaches the size of dominoes that could fly, which rammed into your blankets while you slept. Thwack! Scream. Thwack! Scream.
So, you will understand that we have emptied all the invaded cupboards and moved mounds of canned foods, dishes, glassware, and cake mixes to the table; wiped away ant trails with lemon cleaners and bleach; emptied the under-sink area and replaced the dripping faucet; found the rotted wood fascia outside the kitchen window; placed ant hotels; thrown poison into the wind before regaining our sanity; and captured several ants in margarine tubs (before flinging one across the room because it actually touched my hand!!). Phew.
I'll keep you posted.
murphy@vindy.com