All good things must come to an end. All bad things too.
After years now of living among the wildlife of Texas, I finally broke down last week and paid for an exterminator. They came out with a blowy thing and blew boric acid under my house and in my attic and sprayed down the exterior with... something. I don't know what. I have a sheet that tells me what and how much of each chemical. I do know the chemicals were listed in ounces, which means that given the cost, some of those chemicals were more than good street drugs, I think.
But it means that after braving nighttime invaders of the roachy persuasion for years, I can now get up in the middle of the night for a drink of water and not worry that I'll have to wait in line for the faucet.
What in the world will I talk about on here instead?
Of course, in a karmic trade-off, my cats - who never set foot outside the house, have managed to get fleas. Suggestions are welcome on that, as I'd rather not have to rub toxic chemicals into their skin to get rid of the little bastards...
