Ugh. Starting late last Thursday afternoon, just before the icecalypse hit, I noticed flies in the house. Big ones. Like the house variety on steroids. Unlike the house variety, these guys are slow and dozy, so they are easy to suck into the bowels of the vacuum cleaner with the vacuum hose. They are called blowflies.
Owing to the sheets of ice and below freezing temps, Richard and I didn't go anywhere for two solid days. Reading books. Watching DVD's. Playing Scrabble. Finishing the Christmas decorating. Doing laundry. Watching football. Killing flies. Lots and lots of flies.
By Sunday morning, cabin fever had set in. We skidded out to breakfast, then slid to Target to pick up a few items. Here's a photo Richard took of the cold foods section. It was completely cleaned out due to a power outage. It was the same with the freezers. Fortunately, we weren't at Target for food as I had had the foresight to stock up on Thursday afternoon.
Sunday night, the flies were really bad. Richard was already in bed. I was trying to follow him there, but the little buggers kept materializing out of thin air, and I couldn't go to sleep knowing they were zooming around. They considerately kept themselves to the "public" areas: the den, living and dining rooms, and the kitchen. The cats had a great time helping me catch them. Just by watching the cats' body language, I could tell when a fly was near. And I saw several that turned out to be floaters; you know, those bitty specks that you see swooping around in your vision. I'd think, Whoa! That one was close! and then realize it was a floater. Anyways, as each little winged beast was sucked into the vacuum nozzle, it would hit the side once --- kind of a SCHWIZIP! --- that is immensely gratifying, so help me. Like popping a pimple --- SPLOOSH! (Not that I do that.) Richard, always helpful, pointed out that perhaps I was catching the same fly over and over, that as soon as I sucked it in (SCHWIZIP!), it escaped, only to get sucked in again. I immediately pooh-poohed this (THBBBPPT!), but later secretly tested his theory by putting duct tape over the nozzle end when the vacuum wasn't in use. It didn't stop the winged onslaught, unfortunately.
Monday morning, Richard called our exterminator and that's when we were told that most likely, something had crawled into the attic and died. Hopefully, not Santa. It made perfect sense, but at the same time, URGH-BLECH! Of course, they couldn't send anyone out that day, so we --- what am I saying? Richard was at work --- I spent another fine day in combat mode.
On Tuesday (yesterday), what I had come to think of as V-F Day (Victory Over Flies), and despite sucking another couple dozen into the black hole of the vacuum cleaner nozzle, the exterminator couldn't find any sign of something rotting in our attic; no smell, either. And dang it, he couldn't treat for the flies if he couldn't get to the source. He hung a strip-looking thing that releases a vapor into the attic, which was better than nothing, but it appears we are going to have to sit this one out, and let nature take its course with whatever is festering (Blurgle-gloop-gloop-gloop) up there.
Naturally, I had to Google 'blowflies'. I'm glad I did, because the articles I read reinforced our exterminator's claim that he couldn't do anything without removing the source. At the same time, I was kind of nauseated; no one likes to think there is something foul and squishy (SQUOOSH!) up in their attic.
If you were a Mad Magazine fan back in the day, you'll understand the reference to Don Martin.
Not in a holiday mood,
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