The ants go marching 50 by 50. Hurrah! Hurrah!

We were gone for a week. In our absence, half the ants in California moved in. With complete disregard for squatters’ rights, we annihilated (ant-ihilated?) them.

There were concentrations in the usual places with a few scouts checking out the living arrangements in other rooms. When I changed Joe’s diaper, one climbed in. I removed it, not knowing for whom the situation was worse: Joe for having a literal ant in his pants, or the ant itself, considering Joe had soiled four diapers that day and appeared to be on a roll.

The most curious and concerning area of discovery was our freezer. The integrity of our door closing system is clearly suspect. The ants didn’t get far, however. I discovered them splayed across a package of frozen chicken near their apparent entrance. The silly creatures ventured forth across a frozen fowl tundra with nary a jacket.

Though they didn’t get far, I understand setting off with the promise of glory and ice cream in their tiny insect hearts. I imagine their leader calling a halt once the inevitable failure of their quest became undeniable.

“Men, our quarry is near, though our end is nearer. Let it not be said we went down without a fight. Though this mission has failed, we shall not leave this world in ignominy.  You know what we stand for!”

Ant chorus: “Hoo-rah!”

“Form up!”

[Imperceptible clatter as the ants straighten their line.]

And that’s all that was heard again from Captain Bagel Crumb and Troop 542 before I picked up the Ziplock and unceremoniously swept them into the trash bag under the sink.

Feeling slightly sorry for them, I wrote this on the bag, lest their bravery go unrecorded and unremembered, at least until they enter the Great Trash Bin in the Driveway.

I afterward realized “here in” is one word but didn’t respect the ants enough to redo it.

Anyone else dealing with home invasions from ants, aliens, relatives who won’t leave, or otherwise?