In fact, Spring started a little early for us, and brought an untimely gift. Whoop-de-doo. We have ants. And we have been struggling.

Occasionally in April or May, we have had a small platoon of the little black critters. Nothing we couldn’t deal with easily. We’d buy an 8-pack of ant traps, punch the holes open, and scatter a few around the kitchen and laundry room. In a few days, the annual invasion would be gone and we’d be back to business as usual. The laundry room is particularly important because that’s where Finian’s food dishes are, along with his sack of dry food and stacks of little Fancy Feast cans.

We feed him his wet food first thing in the morning. First thing in our morning, not his. I don’t set a 6 a.m. alarm for cat feeding. But when I walked into the laundry room a few weeks ago, finding ants in his dry food bowl was, uh … off-putting. To say the least. If these invaders bother me, I couldn’t imagine how Finian felt about his dish crawling with critters. I’ve seen him chase an ant, just playing with it, but have never seen him plate one up for lunch.

I threw out his kibble, and filled a fresh dish. I located the ant traps and set one between his wet and dry dishes. Finian sniffed the little white trap – and ignored it.

By mid-February, our newest battalion of the black devils had arrived en masse. Dear Richard bought a fresh supply of ant traps and … no effect. It was as if they had arrived with their own maternity ward. Soon we had little ants, medium-sized ants, and ginormous great-granddaddy ants. Within days they found the tall pantry cabinet, but I didn’t see any evidence that they had entered any foodstuffs. It was as if they were just window shopping in there.

And then I found the open box of Nilla wafers. When I popped the flap and opened the interior, the remaining wafers were teeming with ants. I ran to the sink, turned the faucet on full-force hot and dumped the entire contents as I turned on the garbage disposal. I left it on as I sprayed the frantic climbers off the sink walls. Next came the desperate escapees crawling across my hands and up my arms. When I assumed I was rid of the last of them, I still took off my top and bent over, checking my body and shaking out my hair. I didn’t want any squatters moving in. Creepy.

And so began the rampage. I went through all the cabinets. Our black countertops are great camouflage. I had to bend down to eye level to make sure they weren’t hustling to a new frontier. They were easy kills on the counter. Smash. Pickup in paper towel. Into the wastebasket, their final resting place. We couldn’t leave any foods anywhere. The refrigerator became crowded.

We bought a box of raspberry turnovers at Sam’s Club. After stowing everything else away, I didn’t think much about leaving them on the counter overnight. But before we could open the big bubble box the next morning, it was invaded by you know who. A small, particularly skilled expeditionary force had weaseled their way through the sealed closure and just laughed at me – from the inside. That’s when I declared all-out war. We bought more fresh traps, a can of Raid, and I googled “black ant invasion.” Turns out there are ten kinds of ants most popular in U.S. homes of the 18,000 species that exist. Makes ya skin crawl.

“Little black ants enjoy eating fruits, vegetables, corn meal, greasy and oily foods, and sweets… they prefer to live outdoors in wooded areas but also build nests indoors in woodwork, cracks in walls or cement, and masonry …and will invade a home when food is improperly stored.”

“These tiny, dark ants are not harmful, but a nuisance.” They got that part right. We were pretty much storing our food properly, but noticed that most of the traffic was coming from under the stove. Because of Finian, I only used the poisonous Raid spray under there. For weeks now, every kitchen nook and cranny has held a little white plastic box trap. I think the alluring aroma lures the ants to their doom, promising both heaven and 40 virgins.

The new traps finally started working. And I’m making sure their individual scouts are not making it back to command central. Finally, this week, the kitchen is looking clear.

As I was busy congratulating myself while writing this, an ant crawled across my typing hand. In the den. My work here is not done. They have crossed enemy lines into new territories. And I am living to fight another day.

Damn ants.

Marcy O’Brien writes from her home in Warren.