ANTS

Dear Ants Who Live In My House,

May I first start out by acknowledging that you are magnificent creatures. Yes, you're tiny and your existence is fraught with hazards as you traverse my countertops, but I've got to give respect to an animal who manages to live with insides that aren't much more than goop. You cart your own skeleton around on your back, and that's cool. Your muscles are inside of your skeleton and somehow fit into your tiny legs to give you the ability to walk, and walk fast. I get it. You're cool.

I also acknowledge that you have been living here longer than I. You take priority, and you were invited here by the family's lack of cleaning skills. By leaving crumbs out on the counter, they laid out for you a giant Welcome banner that you gladly accepted and so moved in and set up house. I respect your initiative.

However, I am the one who pays rent. I am the one who was given a key. I am the one who gets queasy when I see one of you walking over a cutting board or my clean dishes. I am the one who was given verbal permission to move in, and I don't see me being squished by the house owners. That would be you and your fragile chitinous exoskeletons. I am safe and you are not.

As a science major, I feel that I am somewhat obligated to like you, and I do. I like whatever job it is that you do in the outdoor ecosystem, because that's what you're supposed to do and you do it well. But you're not supposed to do it in my house. That I will not stand for. Especially since I have found you not only in my kitchen, but in my living room, my bathroom, and even crawling on my bed. I'm sure you're not aware how disturbing it is to find an insect in your bed, but let me assure you, it is discomfiting to say the least.

It is finding that you've been lulled into a false sense of security that nothing could get into your bed unless you gave it permission, only to have that ripped from you. I would prefer monsters in my closet to seeing you in my bed. It is finding your sleep may be interrupted by things crawling on you, and honestly, if that's not the most uncomfortable feeling, then I don't know what is.

My discomfort at finding you in the same area where I keep my food has driven me to ask you to leave. Apparently killing you at every opportunity and cleaning everything with chemicals that the internet assured me would prove distasteful to you was not sufficient. The poison traps have not deterred you, you still scurry about the counters, looking for food that may have been left behind. While I admire your tenacity, I still must ask that you leave.

I don't want you here, as the deaths dealt to your kinsmen must indicate. Please leave before I visit genocide upon your race. That is not what I want for our relationship. I would prefer a peaceful parting of the ways. You find a new home, I keep mine, and I do not rain fire upon your residence and make a pyre of mutilated heads as a warning to the survivors.

Thank you for your time, I hope that you will consider and accept my generous offer to allow the rest of your clan to live.