Fighting Back!

When I was a kid and got sick, my sister Marilyn usually dashed on off to school while mother attacked a fever, runny nose, cough or cold with her two favorite remedies ... aspirin and enemas.

This time was different. I didn't have a cold. I had scarlet fever. Once I was diagnosed, the doctor sent me straight home and called the New Orleans Health Department. They dashed right over and posted a big, bright sign on the door that said "Quarantine" in big, bright letters.

I stayed inside driving mother crazy. My sister couldn't go to school, but mother let her play outside. One day she was out front in the swing when a stranger came by — the school truant officer.

He asked why Marilyn wasn't in school. She said because her brother was sick. The truant officer demanded to see mother. He got as far as the door, and its big, bright "Quarantine" sign. Marilyn said he left in a big hurry.

That episode taught me that the best treatment for some health problems is to isolate the offending bug until either the bug or the patient dies.

Which is why my garage is temporarily off limits.

I've owned pets since I was old enough to say "Roll over" and only had this problem once — and briefly. But recently, my two cats started refusing to come into the garage for meals and sleep. I poked around and discovered a flock of fleas had moved in.

George and Tammy get regular flea treatments, so I knew the fleas weren't theirs. I figured the problem was visitors. We have plenty.

After the cats started dining in the garage with the doors open, word quickly spread that Chez McRae was open for business. A steady stream of neighborhood pets dropped by to sample the leftovers. But they dined for months, and fleas never showed up.

I think the problem is a raccoon I've seen hanging around the house ... and the garage. When I moved the cats' feeding station to the back deck, I saw the 'coon more often.

In fact, while riding shotgun over a recent feeding, I watched both my beasts race to the deck gate and stare toward the creek. The 'coon was approaching. When he saw me, he fled.

The next day I looked out the back door as the raccoon waddled up on the deck and began nosing about for goodies. And dropping a load of industrial strength fleas stubborn enough to star in a remake of the Steven Seagal film "Hard to Kill."

The same kind I figured he'd dumped in the garage.

I bought some really good liquid pesticide, mixed it up in my sprayer and soaked those little suckers. I fogged the garage endlessly. After several "treatments," a few stragglers remained, ready to be fruitful and multiply.

I thought about a flame thrower, then remembered a local man who recently turned his house to toast using a torch to remove some outdoor wasp nests.

An Internet search finally led me to pest control expert Stephen L. Tvedten, who once told attendees at a pest control seminar how to get rid of rats by coating a pan with oil and filling it with beer.

Tvedten said the rats drink the brew, swell up and explode. Now that's pest control you can believe in.

There's just one downside. Toxic chemicals will kill almost anything, but Tvedten swears there are safer, greener ways to remove pests from our premises.

He even said, "If we use our intelligence, we will win the battle against these pests."

No flame throwers? No cannons? No suitcase nukes? Just our intelligence? No thanks.

If I have to fight these bugs with my brains, I'll be going into battle unarmed. That ain't gonna happen.

Pass the poison, Bubba. I've just begun to fight.