I love ants. Not like my Aunt Mary, I love her too, but the little kind, with six legs and four wings, yes, they all have them, the wings, all four, they’re insects after all.
This morning I moved my bowl from last night’s dinner, I had cleaned it but there was some water in it, and about five ants that had crawled in were still in there and they sure seemed dead, drowned, say a prayer, they were all curled up in the last drops that remained. I left them there, clean dirt after all. Just a little roughage.
Tonight I moved the bowl again, and, low and behold, the bowl was bone dry and no ants. I might have suspected geckos, but I’m on the twelfth floor, no geckos. They must have dried out and recovered and split the scene. Boy they sure looked dead this morning, curled up, submerged.
It’s a remarkable animal, the ant.