If you are a reader of this blog, you are well aware of my feelings regarding reptiles. If perchance you missed the “fucking iguana” post, please start there. The invasion continues.
My part-time cat, a healthy and happy wandering tiger, shared by all the soft souls on the block, has left 1 deceased, baby iguana in the yard, and today, carried a second, larger than the first, not-so-dead iguana to me as I sat on the porch. I screamed at the cat and ran indoors–I couldn’t watch what happened next. He was not quite ready to release this unfortunate critter and I wasn’t about to save it. Disgusting, nature as nature was designed to be. But what disgusts me most right now is the thought that their nest may be somewhere close—like under my house. On previous visits, my handsome Mr. Kat also brought one dead bird to my yard and brought a wounded one indoors. I’ve been giving this killer feline kibble and allowing him in my home, but no more of that—doors closed and kitty food on the porch—which was enjoyed recently by a fat-ass, ugly as sin, possum. And then came the insects.
While typing away inside the safety of home, completely unaware of what nature had in store, a limb from the avocado tree next door fell on my roof; a large and rotten limb, large enough that the crash was heard by the neighbor on the other side of my house. A large and rotten limb—filled with termites. Termites were swarming everywhere. One half of this avocado tree is rotten and surprise! filled with bugs. Termites in Florida are airborne as well as subterranean, houses are tented for infestation approximately every 4 years, and it’s swarm season, meaning that the colony is full and time to find a new home. Like mine. Fuck. No one to call—the offending house next door is vacant but was recently sold, so I contacted the realtor and told her I needed to speak with the owner, STAT. I waited an hour for a call and nothing—so up to the roof I go (I could not live with that crap up there) and with the help of another neighbor, removed the limb and broken branches, blew the roof clean, hosed it and sprayed it with whatever insect spray I could find.
And then came the band. Same evening as the termite event, I’m taking my trash to the street, greeted by a jeep trying to get down my non-driving lane. I stop him and we chat and he tells me he’s moving into the vacant, termite-tree house this week. And he goes on to tell me that the owners of Hogsbreath Saloon, one of the most raucous, infamous, shit-kickin’ bars in all of Key West, bought the place for their BAND HOUSE! The FUCKING BAND HOUSE; the many, the transient, the groupie lovin’, bad-ass bands are moving in next door. Well, shut the door and call me fucked.
Two days later, I’m finally face-to-face with the Hogsbreath owner, a woman my age, a small and snappy, no bullshit blonde. She and her partner were all over the termite issue, immediately making an appointment with Keys Electric to clear the wires that are tangled in the rotten tree, as no tree guy will go up there until they do. She took my phone and punched in her number. “Be my eyes and ears,” she said. “I will not, WILL NOT, stand for any band crap.” I liked her, I believed her. What else can I do? But what else is out there, poised and ready to invade my property? I can’t freak out over what hasn’t happened yet, I can’t hold my breath in anticipation of scorpions, giant cockroaches, raccoons, rats and 4 a.m. guitar riffs—but I bet they’re coming. It’s Jurassic Park, now with sound track.
Mr. Kat photo credit: Diane Van Doren
wonder woman photo credit: pinterest