Lespisma sacchrina (Linnaeus)

Out, out, damn bug!

Yes, we are under siege. No, it is not Commies, or, worse, Republicans (shudder). It is the terror of the library— the lespisma sacchrina, otherwise known as the Silverfish.

Soft and low to the ground, these devils are fast and agile. And they seem to have been growing in number since the spring thaw began (is this fair?). We had a few before, as they seemed attracted to the cat’s food. However, we got a food mat to put under his bowls, and this seemed to take care of the problem.

Now they are back in even greater numbers.

We are now on a strict regime of changing the garbage frequently enough to be considered slightly mental, and we now vacuum the kitchen crevices about twice a day. We also spray the joint between the floor and counter-skirt with some concoction of kitchen cleaner, Agent Orange, and vinegar, daily- although this worries me because they’re supposed to like the damp, and I don’t want them to enjoy their stay any more because of my efforts.

I am hoping just to make the place inhospitable enough to make them pack their little insect bags and move on.

I don’t like to kill things… I don’t want to kill things. I consider myself a pretty animal-friendly person. For example, I make sure never to walk on worms outside during the rain… However, in those cases, the worms are OUTSIDE, not in my bloody kitchen. So I don’t know what to do. I could call the super, but I don’t want a bushel of poisons in my kitchen— my cat can be a nuisance some times, but that’s not the way I want him to go. Collateral damage in the war against the silverfish population of Waterloo.

And it’s not like I can trap them and release them back into the wild- these things move faster than innuendo.

I have come down to the realization that it may be a case of kill them or name them, and I am horrified.

So, I am stuck squirting them with vinegar whenever I see them, to make them slow enough to pick up with toilet paper. Then I dispose of the guilty evidence of my crimes (i.e. their little silver corpses). It is an ongoing genocide, and I am sick of it. But it has also become an obsession. I get up in the middle of the night to go throw the lights up, so I can catch them in the act of scuttling.

I am always thinking of how many of the little bastards might be living it up on my kitchen floor right now. And I pace around with my squirt bottle, waiting for them— trying to head them off at the pass before they can make it to my bookshelves.

Yes, I have become the Lady Macbeth of silverfish.

The numbers seem to be dwindling (or at least moving elsewhere— which is fine with me, as they probably originated in some stanky undergrad’s apartment, anyway), but I can’t shake the feeling that they are merely regrouping… In there under that sink and in their dark, damp holes, they are breeding and biding their time. Waiting for a chance to get their own feelers on that spray bottle…

To get their silverfish revenge on their oppressors. (I have always known that the bugs will inherit the earth, but I don’t want to be here to see it.)

It’s all too much. Please send help. We are desperate!