1: Spiders. I'm convinced she married me to kill spiders. I've come to recognize the distinctive sound in her voice when there's a spider that needs a-killin'. 90% of the time the spider isn't doing anything but hanging out, contemplating life, but even so, I'm called in to architect its speedy demise. Once or twice she's called in a hit on a quarter-sized wooly spider wearing racing silks that looked like it would make quite the meal for an iguana. I don't feel so bad about offing them. My preferred M.O. is a tissue, but I'm not above giving the bigger ones the good old Khrushchev shoe treatment.
2: Hornets, especially the ones that decide to set up shop in nests along the deck rail or under the eaves. My preferred M.O. is high-pressure pesticide from a spray can, at dusk. (We had an infestation of two-inch long bumble bees that set up shop in some windchimes, but I didn't get to liquidate them, alas.)
3: Mice. We had field mice issues in New Jersey one winter-into-spring. A particularly crafty one gnawed his way into the house first by defeating a corner of the garage door then sneaking into the house unseen through the back door. After a whirlwind tour of the basement - during which Mr. Mouse displayed a powerful aptitude for fecal distribution - it made the critical mistake of scooting into the pantry while I was watching. I rubbed it out with a high-velocity saucepan attack.
4: Ants, but only when they find their way indoors, which is pretty rare. Scattering boric acid around the foundation of the house does a fabulous job of keeping them out, but sometimes one gets a flash of inspiration and, having decided to see how higher mammals "get it done", makes the mistake of getting spotted by Her Nibs. These poor guys get the old "thumb and forefinger" treatment.
5: The occasional hobo.