Ants on Toast Anyone?

Here I am. With my Rambo hairdo...but sweating even more profusely.....and a wee bit less muscle tone, thinking how aptly `slaving away in the kitchen` fits this moment. At least slaves in the galleys had the comfort of a cool sea breeze and spray from the waves. The airconditioning doesn`t seem to be making a dent in the heat at all but we do have water. Little puddles of it on the table where I sit, disrobing potatoes from their filthy skins. Once you`ve seen one.....

I thought the cat had peed himself at first. No, he ain`t incontinent. He`s just scared.....`of them`. Never mind that one `of them` is about as big as one of his eyelashes. There he is. Cowering on top of the washing machine.

The ants have returned to their summer vacation retreat. My house. In fact, I think a furious battle is being waged between several  clans of ants over squatter`s rights. I swear they are all wearing  differing tartan plaids. I just missed swigging down a few of them with my morning tea. Why can`t they just go and jump off the Chuo Line like everyone else?

And then begs the question? What if I`ve been on an ant diet already the last couple of days? Where exactly have these nomadic beings journeyed from? The Government can`t even seem to stop certain, contaminated produce reaching consumers. I have no faith in them being able to control insects. Are they radioactive? Is it even possible to buy a Geiger counter sensitive enough to evaluate the situation?

The cat isn`t happy. Coming across a rather beastie of a cockroach once, cat practically passed out. I think a mouse would send him over the edge. He isn`t a `working cat`. He`s more of an `ornament cat`. He does a great impersonation of a giant, furry cushion. 

Is it possible for a human to sweat this much and survive? Questions. Questions.Where`s the mop? I`ll have a think while I eradicate a generation of warriors.