I saw one ant, in the sugar bowl on the counter. No others. Just one.
One ant, in oceanic sweetness, risking drowning in As Good As It Gets.
I pinched a bit of sugar and ant together, walked out the door, and tossed it all outside, over the chain-link fence, into the weeds. Rescue or relief (for the ant, not the sugar).
The next day: ants all over the counter.
Vengeance is mine: ant traps (do they work? they seemed to after a few days; they did on the other counter, across the kitchen) and much ant death by crushing. Thumbs and other fingers squashing any ant in sight. My thumbs and fingers. Like some Character in an Old Testament chronicle. The ant crusher's ANThem? "Under My Thumb" by the Rolling Stones, of course.
Whether executing passive ant murder by chemical traps or active extinction by thumb crushing, I ain't no Buddha or Gandhi.
Except in the tiny ant eyes of SugarAnt1, wherever he or she, and the few grains of sugar, are.