yes, could I have the attention of the insect/rodent kingdom please....

Oh, Mr. Ant! Mr. Ant!

You there...yes, you...with the plans in your hand. The blueprints of my home in your sticky little...hand thing-ies. Can we chat? Seriously...where are you headed to next? I need to know. I can't take much more of this. The last time we talked - I admit, I was a little bit over the top...a little...ummm bitter. I might have taken drastic action for which the entomologists of the world might have had issue with me. Heck, I'll admit...perhaps your great great grand-pappy had issue with me? I'm not sure how fast your family chain grows. Anyway, I digress...

Can we talk turkey about the "plans" your colony has to take over mi casa? I know you have a lot of mouths to errr, feed...and someone has to bring home the bacon - but literally? I mean, did you have to bring home that bacon? It was expensive. I'm just sayin'. What about the bathroom? What business could you possibly have in there? For real. I'm mean - that is the "nothing to see here...keep movin'" zone. Literally. Even for humans. So what could you guys possibly want with the bathrooms? It's just a bunch of soap and water and toilets and old magazines that we never get time to read. Especially because we're too busy trying to squish annnn.....I mean...we...ahem. Where was I?

What about the laundry room? What's in there?!?! Oh yeah, I forgot. Kitty has her food in there. Well then, can I reason with you - she's old and her food is friggin expensive. Wanna know why? You're gonna love this. Because it's riddled with OLD FAT CAT MEDICINE you imbeciles. You think you're living off the fat of the land? You're actually eating laxatives to lay out an 18 pound cat. Seriously. Have you not noticed a "problem" back at the compound? Have you perhaps taken note of an increase in bathroom breaks for the workers? I'm sayin' - the ants have got to be taking all that fiber consumption in the postpetiole , if you know what I'm saying... It ain't no picnic. And let's not even talk about the Catlax. I've never seen an ant throw up - but it can't be pretty. Do you even have fur? More like spurs, right? Seen any ants back at home acting a little cooky? Cleaning themselves, perhaps? Yowling? Seriously dude...you need to avoid the laundry room. Move it or lose it.

What about my desk? What the frig is on my desk? This can't have a happy ending. I'm there too often. Too much. Sitting and writing and surfing...and then your pals come strolling across like it ain't no big thang. Brother, let me tell you - there is no ant heaven big enough to hold the multitude I've put down in the last week alone.

How about the nursery...Q's diaper pail? Seriously? Oh my gawd...that's so disgusting! Is it really that bad? I mean, I know the economy is rough and we're all struggling - but duuuuude. Diapers? For real? That ain't right! Does the wife know that's what you're hauling back? Isn't that more the work and goldmine of the fly????

Speaking of....

Mr. Fly?!? Mr. Fly!!!! Hi, got a sec? Marvy. Now here's what I need. Mmmkay? Can you please tell me why, for the love of God and all that's holy, you have made the decision to congregate and hold worship to the fly gods of Awfullotoffood and Massquantityofbabypoop in my house. I'm not even being funny - what in the frig is soooooo enchanting about my kitchen that you and your "homies" are kicking it fly style in every fold of my curtains, my trash can, my floor, my counter, my sink. Have you never heard of personal space? I'm dyin over here. You actually flew out of my drink today. OUT of my drink. Not IN it. I wanted to throw up in my mouth. Oh wait, that's what YOU DO. You nasty re-puker. Blech. You bulimic of the insect world! It's disgusting. Oh, and THANKS for the crap load of baby mutant nasty maggoty goodness you left in our outside trash can. That was TONS OF FUN. More fun was finding them on the floor of the garage and almost squishing them between my toes. OMG. Can't. Finish. Thought. Gonna. Hurl. blecccch.

PLEASE LEAVE!

Dear Mr. Wasp and Family: I know that our back patio seems like a great place to live. Heck, we live here. We know. We understand, truly. But I have to tell you - there ain't enough room for you and me and the little man all on the back patio at the same time. Let me explain. First of all - you scare the crap out of me and your mud house is ugly. Probably no one else wants to tell you, because they don't want to get stung or hurt your waspy feelings. I like to call em' like I sees em. That is one ugly house you're building and if you stick that stinger in me or ma' boy...well, we're gonna have a talk. The kind of talk that involves a high pressured hose. But let's go back to your "house" - if that's what you wanna call it. First of all - it has too many holes in it. Too breezy, if you know what I mean. Second, it's made of mud like stuff - so that sucks. Third, it's taking you forever to build it. It's been months and you're still working on that house like it's your only goal in life. Wait. It probably is your only goal in life. Well, I get that. But still. Could you move next door? Maybe a couple doors down on the right? They're not the nicest neighbors anyway and she's the one who hates my dog. See, compromise. It's all about compromise.

And last...to my newest tenant:

Mr. Mouse! Yes you, you grayish brownish little piece of furry delight....(*&@#*&^!$) I know I'm supposed to think you're cute. They sell you at the pet store. The world wants me to look at you and see, I don't know...Despereaux, or The Rescuers...or freaking Ratatouille....whatever. I can't do it. I just can't. You're cute when you're animated - but when you're running around my house, leaving your little poopy droppings here and there, just to remind me that you're still "in the wild" and haven't left - well, I can't just lie down and take it.

You and your little posse ran the place when we first moved in. Every time I turned around you were running along this wall and scurrying your little fannies over that wall. And I took it. And when I found you in the bread in the pantry, eating like your life depended on it and you gave me that matter-0f-fact "what?" look through the plastic of the bag...ok...un huh...and I threw the bag and ran to jump on the couch and scream like a girl (wait, I am a girl...) for like, ten minutes...and then called Anton and screamed some more...and insisted he come home and get you...and he said I had to deal with it...and so I went back in and got a broom (yes, a broom) and turned the bag over and you were gone, (yes, gone) and so I ran back to the couch and screamed some more, because you were alive and well-fed and on the lose? Remember that?

Well, since I've clearly never forgotten that, and clearly won't any time soon - and since it was clearly very traumatic for me - I'm gonna need you to make a small sacrifice for me. I'm gonna need you (and any pals you might be hiding or covering for) to go ahead and walk to the center of the room and stand very still while I get the cat. Now, don't panic. Don't worry. She's old and slow. It will be more like a game. Yeah, a game. But if you could just stand there...maybe do a little dance...wiggle it like you mean it - maybe drop a poopy or two...( I would) and then hold still. That'd be great.

Many thanks to you, the ant colony taking over my home, the wasp family living on my patio, the fly community for taking the time out of their busy yacking/eating schedule - and all the other little insects living among us...thanks for bringing nature indoors every day for us.

Now if you'll excuse me...I have an exterminator to ring...

friggity frack.