You don’t declare war with cans and warning labels; you wage it with what’s already on your shelves. Dry rice meets sugar and a dusting of boric powder, shaped into quiet offerings behind appliances and along baseboards. Roaches follow the sweetness into the dark, never realizing the grains they carry back will slowly sabotage the nest they thought was safe. No clouds of toxins, no frantic midnight sprays—just a patient, invisible tightening of the circle around them.
For mice and rats, you stage a different kind of ambush. Baking soda hides in familiar flavors, folded into grains and cocoa, left only where their small feet dare to travel. Around these bait stations, you redraw the boundaries of your home with scent and order: peppermint oil tucked into corners, bay leaves slipped into drawers, food sealed and crumbs erased. One week, then two—until the silence tells you what victory never announces out loud.
