I'm easy to get along with but don't mess with my coffee

Why am I not surprised that ants with substance abuse problems ended up on my kitchen counter? On days when I do not use my French press to make coffee, translation, days when I am running late for work, I have a cheerful, high tech, red and black Mr. Coffee patiently awaiting my whims. This morning was one of my busy days, but I was stopped in my tracks by an unwelcome guest. Even though I am vegetarian, I do not hesitate to squash lower forms of life that invade my kitchen, so be warned. I killed the first tiny black ant by my sink and scanned the counter with an eagle eye. There is never just one ant, so I took a look around and killed several more. Job accomplished, I pulled Mr. Coffee forward to fill it with water. Arguh! Hundreds of ants were scurrying in circles where the base of the pot had recently rested. After 15 seconds of death from the sky, all of them seemed to be gone. I washed the little dots of their bodies down the drain with no regrets, but when I lifted the pot to check again, there were just as many as before! The smash and rinse continued along with a bit of shaking of the pot to extract them all from the base. They had been there sucking up the remains of the last batch, and trotting anxiously back to their secret underground chambers. I imagined the queen sitting down there with a headache, and what passes for a grouchy face in an ant, demanding her caffeine fix. I suppose she’s all but given up on finding sugar in my house again and has turned to the only alternative available. What she’s going to get from me today is tough love. It’s for her own good. After the massacre is mopped up, and my coffee is at last ready, a few gulps of the hot strong heady brew starts my brain working. I suddenly realize the implication of ants in my kitchen, be they caffeine crazed or just seeking sugar. Although frost sits on the brown grass outside my window, the trees still denuded and stark, it is official. The first tiny harbinger of spring has come to the south. February is dead and gone and March moves forward with haste. Any day now there will be crocus and jonquils blooming by my back doorstep. The winter of our discontent is almost over.