I found the first ant of the summer in the bedroom. I tried to point it out to Nixie and Maggie, but they ignored it, so I gave up and squished it.

It kept moving. Not thrashing, or death throes; I’m talking moving in a straight line, moving with a purpose and a goal.

I squished it again.

“It’s still moving!” I said in disbelief.

“Then kill it,” said HRH.

“I have! Twice!”

And then — I don’t know, it must be the heady knowledge that I did over 5K today, or the sugar coursing through my bloodstream — I said:

“It must be a reven-ant!”

And I giggled. I giggled so hard that tears came to my eyes, and I couldn’t find the ant to deliver the ultimate killing blow. HRH looked at me for a moment, then returned to looking for a clean shirt.

“Your mother is nuts,” he said to the cats.

“I know. You get used to it,” Maggie told him. And off I went, still giggling.