Sometimes I feel like I'm in some fifties science-fiction B movie. Relentless hords of creatures have invaded. Conventional weapons are useless. (Sort of like Them! (1954), except that this enemy doesn't provide the big, slow-moving targets that the Hollywood ants did.)
Sure, saturation-bombing of an area with vinegar kills some of them, but a seemingly endless stream of replacements keeps marching in.
Those tiny ants are still in the kitchen.
Putting a plate into the washer last night, I saw dozens fall onto the inside of the washer's door when I tipped the plate. We've cleaned what we can, but a family of six needs to eat a few times a day, and that isn't an entirely smear-free process on the kitchen counter.
I took a picture of some of the things, plus a few crumbs, I think, earlier today. My wife may not appreciate that. The big oval thing on the right is a spoon. As I said before, those ants are tiny.
I made a post yesterday about them, and there really hasn't been that much change in our status.
The ants still have numbers and single-minded purpose on their side. They seem to have nothing to do but raid our kitchen. We, on the other hand, are distracted by day-to-day duties, but have superior intelligence on our side.
My wife still hasn't formulated a winning attack strategy.
Gingerly treading the narrow way between the twin threats of myrmecophobia and myrmecophilia, I'll continue to report as there are fresh developments.