My apartment is an hormiguero

I should have mentioned the ants earlier. They are my housemates, all x million of them. They live under the floor and kick chewed grout out of their holes every night; they live in the kitchen counter and at every meal usually make it onto my plate before my food does. They scout my table frantically whether I am eating or just reading, and crawl up my chair legs and onto my arms whenever I sit down. When I was still sleeping on my foam mattress on the floor, they would crawl in my bed and wake me up at night.

They are tiny, and don´t bite. But they eat through the plastic wrap, paperboard and styrofoam of my packaged food that I leave on the shelves. I have learned to keep anything that has been opened and not finished in the refridgerator just to save it from the ants, but they sneak in there anyway when I´m not looking. They eat through the metallic film of a pack of pills to get access to the sugar coating on my anti-parasite medicine. Last night I discovered they are eating the shelves themselves, the only piece of wooden furniture I bought that I have not yet varnished. (Oh, and the shelves are now molding, too.)

This is why I say that my apartment is an hormiguero: an anthill. Or if the word exists, an hormiguerón.