Thursday, February 28, 2013

War is Hell

During the actual combat I think that we really forgot who we were, we became faceless and nameless and limbless - which didn't leave much, just blobs with no names. But it was enough.

Gabe: Mummy!
Me: Erg, bleruh, wha tm isit?
Gabe: It isn't 7 zero yet, but MUMMY there are ants everywhere!
Me: Where?
Gabe: In the kitchen and in the bathroom and up the hallway.
Me: Uhgfnf. Alright.
Gabe: I'll check on them!

He scampers away like a happy, happy little bearer of bad news.He scampers back.

Gabe: Yep still there!
Me: I'm coming.
Gabe: Your clothes aren't on.
Me: They are almost on!

Hi-ho! I'm in your kitchen!
We walk down to the kitchen. It is mayhem. Orderly mayhem. The ants have found the motherload in our recycling bin. Last night, before I had fallen gratefully into my bed I had actually thought about putting that out, the recycling. But I didn't. And now - ant pandemonium. At some point during that 7 hour period an ant, lets call him Frank, had ventured into my house and had a look around. Frank was a young ant and he wanted to do a good job, he wanted to find food and report back to the command post and then he wanted to die and be eaten by his fellow ants. Part of the great cycle of life - as evinced in The Lion King.

Frank popped out of the hole in the bathroom and wandered across the floor.

Franks inner dialogue:  "That bathroom bin needs a wide birth, we aren't that desperate. I like the tiles in here, extra shiny and easy to skitter on. What the fuck is that thing, some sort of totem pole!? Oh cat scratching post, yeah right, I bet the cat still scratches the couch (he does) I bet that they still spend time trying to show him how to use that thing (we do) I bet he laughs into his paws (he does). WAIT! Wait, what in the good goddamn is that smell! It's heavenly, it's like corn and cat food and something else - tomato paste! All mixed together. Where is it! I must find it!".
Frank finds the food!
Frank found it and went back to the ant hill, which must be the size of Texas, and let his ant buddies know. They were sitting around smoking and playing cards with pictures of the queen ant in compromising positions on them.

Frank's friends.
Franks initial descriptions seemed far fetched to the hard bitten, 5 day old worker ants. Why should they listen to this 1 day old scout, wet behind the antennae and barely walking out of pupae stage. Frank described the beauty of my recycle bin, the wonders inside. Then he did a heart wrenching mime. The other ants stood in awed silence as his six legs became the cat food tin, and his thorax was the corn tin.  Franks abdomen brought them to tears with it's soulful depiction of tomato paste in a bottle. So moved was Silas, that he lay down and died. The others contemplatively ate him as they watched the closing act of Frank's mime.

They marched at dawn. Or possibly anytime after 11.30pm.

I marched at fairly close to 7am.

We met at "the crossing" - the most vulnerable point in their highway of ants. I stood with a bottle of Raid and they ignored me and loaded themselves up with the fruits of the bin. I contemplated their industry for a moment and then I struck. I took them down, I blasted them across the floor, I soaked them and drowned them and when I thought that I couldn't stand the killing anymore I would see another fucking ant and keep going!

The sweat dripped from my brow as I staggered into the bathroom, following the trail to their dreaded egress. Gabe was hot on my heels peppering me with questions, like bullets for my ears.
  • Why are you doing that?
  • Are they dead?
  • What is that?
  • Can I do it?
  • Does it kill them?
  • Why do you have it?
As I was about to give in, surrender to the inexorable swelling tide of my child, I used my last ounce of energy to blast those ants BACK TO HILL!

Then I sat on the toilet and looked at all those bodies. It was like a scene out of one of those movies where there are a lot of bodies. I felt so far away, so high up above, they all just looked like ants to me. 

Me: (Clipped British accent) Well, we gave them what for eh? We did our best and you can't do better eh?  Gerry was sorry that he got up this morning and trekked into my recycling bin. We sent him home with his tail between his legs. How about a game of rugger?

"What, what!"
And I guess if I had actually been in WW2 I would have clapped someone on the back and bitten back a tear and smoked a pipe and had sex with a man, as there weren't any 'gels'.

As it was Gabe asked for breakfast and the cat meowed at me like ninety million times and I berated him for not eating all the ants and he explained that he was a cat and not an ANTEATER and if I had wanted a anteater I should have gone to the Lost Anteaters Home! And we both sat in opposite corners and licked our backs.
I eat ants and purr!
Everything was the same. And yet different. But mostly the same, minus the ants.

1 comment:

  1. I had an aunt that I could have used your services for one time. Man she was a pain in the ass.