7:02 a.m.
I step into the kitchen and instantly regret being barefoot. Crumbs from yesterday? Maybe. But the tiny black speck that darts under the stove—definitely not a raisin. I freeze. One roach? Could be a fluke. I tell myself that. Again.
8:13 a.m.
I Google "small bugs in kitchen" and scroll through five different species that could be responsible. I close the tab. The images make me itch.
9:40 a.m.
Work meeting, Zoom on. I shift my laptop slightly to hide the slight discoloration on the wall behind me. Water damage? Or is that something else? The paint looks like it’s bubbling. I make a mental note to look into it later. I won’t.
11:05 a.m.
A colleague mentions he just had a termite inspection done “as a precaution.” I nod along, pretending that I also do responsible adult things like schedule inspections. Truth: I’ve been meaning to call someone about termite control for months. But the kitchen remodel took priority. Now the new cabinets might be sharing space with a hidden colony. Fantastic.
12:30 p.m.
Lunch break. I eat standing at the counter—fast, mind half-focused. The microwave beeps. I open the door and out comes more than just heat. A whiff of something… stale? Faintly musty. I've cleaned this kitchen top to bottom. Twice. Why does it still smell like something’s living here?
1:15 p.m.
The scratching starts again. Subtle. Just behind the wall near the pantry. I’ve heard it before, but today it’s more persistent. I turn on music to drown it out.
2:42 p.m.
Take a break. Sit on the couch. Realize I haven’t fully relaxed in this space in weeks. Every small noise feels like a sign. I try to focus on the TV. But my mind’s stuck on a question: How bad is it… really?
3:10 p.m.
I go upstairs. The hallway feels warmer than usual. Dry heat. Still air. I walk into the guest room—the one I avoid unless I’m hosting. It’s cluttered, dusty. And quiet. Too quiet. I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at the baseboard, thinking.
That's when I notice the small reddish mark on my ankle. I brush it off. Probably a mosquito. But it's winter. There shouldn't be any mosquitoes.
3:17 p.m.
I peel back the bedsheet. I’m not sure what I expect to find. But something about the stillness makes me uncomfortable. I check the mattress seam. Nothing. Then again, I’ve read that bed bugs are stealthy. Hiding in folds, zippers, even behind picture frames.
I think of the guests who stayed here last summer. Visiting from out of state. Could they have brought something?
3:30 p.m.
I search for a “bed bugs exterminator near me.” Pages load. I skim descriptions. I see warnings. I don’t click any of them.
I walk downstairs instead.
4:00 p.m.
I step outside for air. The side of the house has a line of what looks like dried mud. Low to the ground, snaking upward. I crouch to look closer. Could be dirt. Could be damage. I don’t want to know.
I remember reading that termite tubes look like that. I take a photo. Don’t open the gallery to look at it.
5:12 p.m.
I sit in the car for a few minutes before running an errand. The silence is comforting. Clean. Pest-free. I think about what it would cost to fix this—really fix it. Not just vacuum or spray or ignore. I wonder if it's already too late.
6:47 p.m.
Back home. I check under the sink while putting groceries away. Damp cardboard. A couple of droppings—small, oval. Not from a mouse. Roaches maybe?
I don't know why, but I push everything to one side and wipe the cabinet twice. I want to feel like I’m doing something. Like I’m not helpless.
7:30 p.m.
Dinner. I cook fast and eat faster. I throw away leftovers I’d usually save. Suddenly, the idea of “leftovers” makes my skin crawl.
8:12 p.m.
I finally call someone. Agile Pest Control. I don’t schedule anything yet. Just ask a few questions. They’re polite. No pressure. I hang up with more information than I had before—and less denial.
9:06 p.m.
I vacuum again. The sound drowns out the thoughts. I check baseboards, inspect seams, shine a flashlight under the bed. I find nothing definitive. But also… nothing comforting.
10:30 p.m.
Lights off. Bedroom cool. Sheets clean. I settle in.
I don’t sleep immediately. I’m too busy thinking. About that trail outside. About the sound behind the wall. About the mark on my ankle.
And about how the real problem wasn’t the pests. It was me pretending they weren’t there.
Final Thought
Pest control isn’t just about extermination—it’s about awareness. The sounds, the smells, the bites, the damage… they all build quietly until they’re impossible to ignore. And by then, the fix isn’t quick.
Whether it’s calling for termite control before structural damage takes root, or recognizing the signs that bed bugs may have moved in, most problems begin not with bugs, but with delay.
So if you're reading this wondering if you're imagining things—you probably aren't. Trust the signs. Trust your instincts. And when you're ready to stop questioning, call someone who knows what to look for.
