Bed and bugs do not go together

Last night, I snuggled under my sheet, glad for the cool weather. I thought I felt something crawling on my leg but decided it was a string on the sheet. A few seconds later, something stung me on the back of my shoulder. I threw off the sheet, simultaneously swiping at my arm. The sting didn't hurt bad enough to be a centipede, but I wasn't ruling it out, so I clambered to my knees and backed onto J's side of the bed. Luckily he wasn't on it, being that he had to work last night.

I looked down a saw an ant. And then another. And another. And then a vertible torrent of them. There were easily several hundred ants, two different types, trekking from the head to the foot of the bed. Too tired to mess with it, I grabbed my pillow and sheet, shook them both vigorously, and then went inside to sleep in the "real" bed.

I slept pretty well, but I didn't particularly appreciate stepping in a mound of tepid cat vomit when I woke up at 6:30. It may have been my best foot that I put forward, but that didn't ensure my day got off to a great start after such an aggravating ending. I say that because I don't think turning around in the shower to find a 3" centipede crawling around my feet to be any greater as a start than having hot cat puke squish up between my toes.

And it turned out the great Ant Trek was also caused by cat vomit that I hadn't seen the night before.

However, the day did get better from there. I took my CV to the high school; I had tea and a lovely chat with N; and N, J, and I went to have another look-see at our soon-to-be new house. I can't wait until the end of July!