Chapter 46
It hadn’t taken Vena long to find the antologist she had mentioned to Gran.
Before long, the guy was in touch with Gran over the phone.
Though when Gran referred to him as an antologist, he was so kind as to correct her and inform us that his actual profession was that of a myrmecologist. Gran figured he was pulling her leg, but he assured her that this was what ant specialists were called.
He also told her it was a branch of what is known as entomology, which is the study of insects.
“I’ll simply call you an antologist,” said Gran. “Because the other thing is going to break my tongue. So what can you tell me about an ant queen who looks poorly, Doc?”
“Professor,” he corrected her. “Professor Larrimore Gamble. Could you show me the insect in question?”
Since this was a Zoom call, it was a cinch for Gran to show the professor the ant queen, which Dooley and I had been dutifully protecting from harm.
“Hmm,” said the professor finally. “Looks like a case of parasitic mites to me. Can you zoom in for me, please, Mrs. Muffin?”
Gran did as the professor asked.
“Yup. Those are mites, all right. She is covered with them. They suck her blood and cause her to weaken. You need to get rid of them, Mrs. Muffin, or she might not survive.”
“And how do I do that?” asked Gran, who had never removed parasitic mites from an ant queen before. Well, in all fairness, who has?
“Put a piece of fresh garlic near the queen,” the professor advised.
“These mites hate the smell of garlic. And what you can also do is carefully swab the queen with a cotton swab dipped in diluted lemon juice. You could even use a paintbrush to brush the parasites away one by one if you feel up to it. The important thing is to get rid of them before it’s too late and they overwhelm her natural immune system. ”
“That sounds great, professor,” said Gran. “I’ll try that right away.”
“There is one other option if my first suggestion doesn’t work.
You could introduce predatory mites that feed on the parasites.
They’re called Hypoaspis miles, or Stratiolaelaps scimitus, and they’ll aggressively hunt down and devour the parasitic mites while leaving the queen and her eggs unharmed. ”
“Huh,” said Gran. “It really is a dog-eat-dog world, isn’t it?”
“In this case, it’s a mite-eat-mite world,” the professor joked. “But yes, you are correct, Mrs. Muffin. Sometimes you need one evil to battle another.”
“So… where can I find these good mites that eat the bad mites?”
“Oh, you can buy them online,” said the professor, much to our surprise. “They’re very popular for biological pest control and are used in greenhouses, terrariums, and chicken coops to eat unwanted pests. I’ll send you a link. They’re shipped in cardboard tubes or plastic cylinders.”
“Gee, thanks, professor,” said Gran. “This is some great stuff. You see, I’m an avid gardener myself, and I never knew about these mites.”
“Alternatively, you could find them in the soil right beneath rotting logs, inside compost heaps, or around the root systems of garden plants. They look like tiny, beige, fast-moving specks of dust, less than one millimeter in size. Pear-shaped, slightly flattened body, eight legs. You can’t miss them.
Or, like I said, buy them online. Your choice, Mrs. Muffin. ”
After Gran had thanked the professor profusely, she immediately started looking for these predator mites to combat the parasitic ones.
“Maybe Gran should simply place a piece of garlic next to the queen,” said Dooley. “Wouldn’t that be a lot simpler? Or swab her in lemon juice?”
“I don’t want garlic anywhere near me,” the queen now piped up. “I mean, please. Who wants to smell like garlic all the time? My workers will start avoiding me, and soon I will be left with no assistance whatsoever.”
“But—” I said.
“No garlic,” she said determinedly.
“How about lemon juice?” asked Dooley. “Nice lemon juice to get rid of these parasites?”
“No lemon juice,” said the queen decidedly. “I hate the smell. It makes me sick.”
“Are you okay with the predatory mites, then?” I asked, since it looked as if we were quickly running out of options here.
She pondered this for a moment, then finally seemed to incline her royal head.
It was hard to be sure, as ants are pretty small, even their queens.
“I will allow the predator mites, if they promise to do a good job and work diligently and fast. And they need to be polite at all times. I will not allow cussing or bad language in my court. Is that understood, guards?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” I murmured deferentially.
“Of course, Your Highness,” Dooley murmured obsequiously.
Looked like we’d have to work hard to get these OBEs that Dooley was after.
It didn’t take long for Gran to return with a scoop of fresh soil, just as the professor had indicated. And as we could see from a mere glance, the soil in question was teeming with the yellow mites that the professor had mentioned.
“So these yellow mites will get rid of the white mites?” asked Dooley.
“That is exactly what they will do,” said Gran. “It’s an efficient method and should make sure that before long the queen is back to her old self.”
The queen had observed Gran’s arrival with a touch of austerity, but finally consented to the introduction of the predator mites into her court.
“They need to behave, though,” she repeated. “I won’t have mites running amok.”
After we had explained to the mites what they needed to do, and they had accepted their assignment, Gran carefully placed some of the mite-infested soil near the queen.
As we all watched on with breathless anticipation, the yellow mites ventured out to the queen and started sniffing at her, or so it looked to us at least.
“Oh, Samson!” the queen said. “One of these rude mites just sniffed my butt!”
“Just hang in there, my queen,” said Samson, who was also keeping a close eye on the proceedings. “It’s almost over, I promise.”
He glanced up at me, and I gave him an encouraging two paws up, even though I had no idea if this would work or not.
But we shouldn’t have worried; before long, all the white dots that had littered the queen’s body were gone, devoured by the yellow mites.
And since they didn’t have anything more to eat, they quickly dispersed, after offering a few words of thanks to the queen for the excellent meal and the warm reception they had received.
“It’s the least I could do,” said the queen, who seemed relieved and gratified to find that she was free of the monsters that had been plaguing her for so long.
“So did it work?” asked Gran. “It’s just that my eyesight isn’t what it used to be, and these ants are tiny.”
“It worked,” I announced. “The bad mites are gone, and so are the good mites, who have gone to find more stuff to eat.”
“Oh, goodie!” said Gran, clapping her hands. “So no garlic necessary? Or lemon juice?”
“No garlic and no lemon juice,” I confirmed. “Looks like the queen is saved.”
“And it’s all thanks to that professor,” said Dooley. “What a clever man!”
“Yeah, he was a real brainiac,” said Gran. “I didn’t understand half of what he was saying.”
“I feel a lot better already,” the queen announced.
“In fact, I feel so great that I could dance with joy. I won’t, of course,” she assured us.
“Since a queen has to retain her dignity and sense of decorum at all times. But I want to thank you, Max and Dooley, and also you, Samson, for finding me these two brave and resourceful cats.”
“And let’s not forget Gran,” said Samson. “She also helped a lot.”
“I will bestow the OBE on all three of you,” said the queen. “If you will come closer?”
Dooley and I came closer, and so did Gran, after having been prompted by us.
It was a little hard to see, but I imagined that the queen did what queens do on these occasions: bestow the ultimate honor of their realm.
And even though the queen couldn’t exactly touch our shoulders or our heads with a sword, like some queens are wont to do, I still felt honored to be included in this rare and quite unique ceremony.
“And now I want to return to my lair,” said the queen. “I feel like laying some eggs and producing fresh offspring, Samson. Let’s say a dozen or so. Will you take me back?”
“I will, my queen,” said Samson, well pleased. He turned to me and Dooley. “Thanks, you guys,” he said. “I knew when I met Dooley that it was one of those pivotal meetings. One that is about to change your life. And that’s what it has proven to be. So thanks again.”
We watched as the queen was moved back underground by her army of ants, as led by her loyal lieutenant Samson, and then they were gone.
“Well, that was fun,” said Gran. “Any more ant queens you need to save, Max? Just say the word, and I will be in touch with Professor Gamble in a heartbeat. He’ll spout some more gobbledygook and we will save some more lives together.”
“No, I think we’re all good for now,” I said.
It certainly had been one for the books, and as I felt a warm balm of satisfaction spread across my chest, my mind was thrown back to the investigation into the murder of Harley Glad. And as I gave it some more thought, an idea started to form in my mind.
Was it possible?
Surely not.
And yet…