In Chicago, the first harbinger of spring was not the twittering of the birds, the tender buds of crocus breaking open or the aroma of skunk wafting through the neighborhood. It was the ants in my bathroom. Every spring, tiny little black ants would appear in the corner near the tub. And every spring, I would watch them with interest and in two or three days, they would disappear until the next year. Ants traps and insecticide were unnecessary. I have no idea how they got in, where they went or what they thought they would find in my bathroom but they didn't bother me and I didn't bother them. The spiders that survived the cats were shepherded outside (or during winter, to the furnace room). I did kill any stray house flies or mosquitoes that crossed my path, but even the occasional centipede, as much as they creeped me out, was free to make its way in the world.
Then I moved here. And I encountered the four inch long flying cockroaches. Water bug, my ass. It's a roach and my house has 'em. My dear landlord told me that it was my fault - the cardboard boxes drew them in. I've since learned (after talking to the neighbors and three different pest control companies) that it more likely stems from the house being vacant for at least two years prior to my moving in. Most of the ones that I encounter are already dead, or mostly so, and have been placed by my little hunters, leaving carcasses displayed about for my approval. *shudder* If I do find one alive, however, I must confess - I do NOT let it live. I kill it, with extreme prejudice. It is powder by the time I'm finished stomping on it. So my karma took a hit along with bugs. Squish.
Shortly after moving in, I noticed ants in my downstairs bathroom. [What is it with tiny black ants and bathrooms, anyway?] Once again, I watched them with interest and left them alone... and in a few days they were gone. I didn't think too much about it.
Then, Saturday, I noticed ants in my trash can. These ants were still black but they were bigger. I didn't think much about it - the trash goes out on Sundays. Sunday, I removed the bag and dumped it outside. I felt kinda bad about the ants in the trash bag, but only for as long as it took me to get the bag out to the trash can.
Oh goodness. Monday, I came downstairs to discover that the ants had invaded - the truce was over. Obviously my removal of the trash buffet was an act of war. My counters were covered with hundreds, thousands, kajillions of ants. I got home last night to find my kitchen still under siege... so I launched my offensive. Man, that Raid stuff (for ants and roaches) works! It was a massacre. Thousands died. I was ruthless. It was the insect version of the Bomb. Not content to just spray them into submission, I also planted bait - I intend to win this war, and take no prisoners. By the time I retired for the evening, there wasn't an ant in sight. This morning, still no ants. We'll see how it goes tonight, but for now the enemy is vanquished... but I do mourn the dead. And I'm fairly convinced now that I'll be coming back as either a roach or an ant. *sigh* Well, there's always the next life to be peaceable, right?