Local Wildlife

I really thought I lucked out.

My last apartment was under constant attack from all kinds of bugs: ants, mosquitoes, and, my personal nemesis, fruit flies. But since my move to new digs nine months ago, I've lived in a state of critter-free bliss. I thought maybe the exterminators for this apartment complex were better, the place was generally cleaner, or maybe that even the bugs didn't want to live this far north. Whatever the reason, I was grateful.

Imagine my surprise when I opened my trash can a couple of weeks ago and a huge cloud of fruit flies hit me in the face. What? No! This is a no bug zone!

It was then I realized the gap in my logic. When did I move in? October. The middle of fall. The season of dying. The bugs weren't gone. They were just hiding. Biding their time. Waiting for warm weather to come and fly up my nose while I sleep.

Sure enough, the war has begun anew. I've seen the sentry ants marching along my countertops, gathering intelligence on where I keep my cereal and rice, the flies doing air reconnaissance, waiting for another unwashed plate to pile into my sink so they can secretly build a base closer to ground zero. And the mosquitoes have begun making pre-emptive strikes on my arms and legs, trying to make sure their offensives go unchecked. "Next time," I imagine them saying, "we come for your eyelids."

But this ain't my first rodeo. The Battle of Riverside Place was a long and bloody one, but I eventually prevailed. These little bastards won't know what hit 'em.