Jamie is fighting a losing battle against crickets in her garage. I’m fighting a losing battle with millers in my bedroom. Little bastards.
At the end of my day I like to get in bed and read. This last week I’ve been swarmed by millers. They land on my face and when I try to shriek, “KILL THE NASTY!” they fly in my mouth. Then they tangle in my hair, crawl on my arms and try to pluck out my eyes. Last night I discovered they feel moist when they do the creep walk, which sent me into screaming heebie jeebie convulsions.
Otis and Maggie used to be Miller Killers. I would shriek, “KILL THE NASTY!” and they would leap to the head of the bed and snap them out of the air. This summer Halo and Arlo have decided to pitch a bitch fit if anyone moves on the bed, so when I shriek, “KILL THE NASTY!” Maggie and Otis look at me like I’ve ordered their execution. Otis still tries. He worms (fat ass in the air, front legs by his sides, top of his head on the bed, back legs pushing) his way up me, lays on my chest and tries to catch millers, but to be frank, he sucks. He snaps, drools, decides he wants to be a baby, and rolls onto his back while millers pummel both of us.
This has turned my relaxing time into an hour of screaming, flailing and name calling. When I turn the light out I fall into a terrorized exhausted sleep. It’s helped my insomnia, but at what cost? I’m supposed to be the boss, but I’m reduced to giving orders no one follows. What’s next? Will intruders be given a cup of coffee and a donut?
You just can’t find good help these days.