The Crusade against the Flies

Over the past two weeks, Three and I have been battling teeny fruit flies. And they have been fighting back with a vengeance. We've fogged the shit out of them, thrown away anything that looks like it may even think about getting spoiled or old, etc. You wouldn't think that a bug the size of an overgrown fleck of dust would be that bad, but you'd be wrong. It's made us a little crazy.

I've been taking pictures of my victories:

It's like they said, "Ooooooh, hey! POOL!! How decent of our hosts!!!" And then they all drowned.

Most of our conversations eventually turn to the topic of flies, more because they'll dart in front of our eyes while we're talking about something else. Although I think Three may have been affected more severely than me.

Three: I've figured out their gestation phase is four days long, so if we ...
Me: ...
Three: What?
Me: Really?
Three: I'm in a war and I'm getting to know my enemy.
Me: Fair enough.

Three thinks he may have discovered how they keep coming back. He hasn't really revealed how he's come to this conclusion or even what that conclusion may be, but I came home to him cleaning dishes. If you know anything about Three, it's that he isn't exactly the domestic type. He's more of a water demon who manages to cause a mess wherever he goes. So there he was with little rubber gloves on, scrubbing one of our pots.

My expression was more

when it should have been

but I think he took it fairly well. Usually his attempts at cleaning end in disaster*, but I haven't found any casualties yet. Except more dead flies.

Maybe it's a sign of the apocalypse?

* I came home one day to find the entire kitchen completely drenched, Three standing with a towel in his hand, two wide-eyed kitties trying to avoid the water on the floor, and Zola hiding in her crate because she thinks all water equals bath. I nearly just left the apartment.