Ants:

Ants are surprisingly easy to deal with.

Little ants: Most scientific catalogs supply ants of various shapes and sizes, for use by institutions of higher learning. Just order several dozen large ants, and set them loose in the kitchen. Within a week or two, you should notice that the little ants are gone. They have been eaten by the big ants.

Big ants: Using the same sort of catalog described above, order half-a dozen rat-sized ants. You'll be surprised by the appetite of a rat-sized ant. Mama mia!

Rat-sized ants: Rat-sized ants can't really be stepped on; their shells are as tough as iron, and lighter than aluminum.

Fortunately, you can order one or two dachshund-sized ants, and let them loose in the kitchen. Their razor-like pinchers will neatly nip the rat-sized ants in half.

Dachshund-sized ants: The bad news is, they're virtually indestructable. The good news is they make loyal, affectionate pets. Walk them in the park, but keep them away from toddlers, whose bright colors and fat little bodies make them resemble piglets.

Feed the ants piglets on a regular basis.

Mice:

Unlike the cute, scampering mice of storybook fame, real mice are destructive little poop machines. They'll get into your Mueslix, and they'll harass the family ants as they try to sleep off a big meal.

Traps only egg them on. They best way to handle mice is with a pellet gun.

Stuart, Fievel and Mickey only respect the law that emerges from the barrel of a gun. Here's how to teach them the manners they so desperately need:

1. Set up a little course of mouse hors d'oeuvres in kitchen. Mice like warm brie, with stoned wheat crackers, but can also be enticed by a nice guacamole dip, provided the avocados are fresh and ripe. Some mice keep kosher, so no bacon-wrapped water chestnuts, please.

2. Dim the lights in the kitchen. Wait in a neighboring room, pellet gun at the ready.

3. Put on some mood music. For some reason, any of REM's older albums seem to work pretty well.

4. Wait some more.

5. Right after you've set the gun down, you'll notice that a team of mice is finishing what's left of the hors d'oeuvres. Grab the gun, frightening the mice away. Fire at where you think they went: a cabinet full of Tupperware.

6. Make some more snacks, swearing under your breath. Eat about half the snacks. Set them down, re-dim the lights, wait again.

7. Eventually, shoot a mouse. Argue with the roommates over who should dispose of the corpse, like this:

Roommate: You killed it. You clean it up.

You: Exactly. I've done half the work. You do the other half.

Roommate: But this is stupid! You've only killed one of them.

You: The rest are intimidated. You'll see.

Roommate: How about this: I clean up the mouse, and you pay for all of Dave's broken Tupperware.

You: How about I clean up the mouse, and we don't mention what happened to the Tupperware?

Roommate: Deal.

8. The mice will leave, and never return.

Roaches:

Always leave your leftovers out. Always. Leave out flank steak. Leave out foie gras and corn bread. Leave out platters of spare ribs, and Cheerioes and French toast. Let it accumulate in a pile in the corner of the kitchen.

At first, the roaches will go wild for this. You'll find roaches inhabiting and exploring the food pile as though it were some sort of cockroach Disneyworld and Epcot Center.

But after a week or two of subsisting on your endless bounty of rotting food, the roaches will begin to feel the tug of ennui. They'll find that the endless supply of food is making them sluggish, and bored. They'll find that with no real challenge in their lives — no predators, no pesticide, no lack of food whatsoever — they have reached a point where life itself has no real meaning.

For a while, they'll keep coasting, telling themselves that it's okay to throttle down for a while, and enjoy the fruits of their hard work. They'll use their leisure time to connect with old friends, and join some community organizations.

But it won't be enough. One evening, after yet another trip to the arthouse cinema, the roaches will go into a long, brooding depression that no amount of pickled herring can fix.

Bored and eager for the next challenge, the roaches will resolve to strike out for the next challenge. En masse, they will leave your apartment, filled with goodwill and a lust for real adventure.

The best part is: everyone wins.