Symbiosis

Early on there was an incident involving Roger, and so we switched from run-of-the-mill poisons to a more holistic approach. As the siege progressed, our new home took on a strangely occult appearance. Baby talc blended with cayenne pepper created soft pink particles that shimmered dreamily in the air, filtering out the glare of the summer sun. Vivid circles of chilli powder spread concentrically from the kitchen; erratic splashes of wine vinegar bespattered the stucco walls. My wife went around under a constant yellow cloud of mustard and tumeric, swooping and scooping with her dustpan and brush, until one day I returned home to only the faintest whiff of spice and I knew she was gone for good.

My new masters turned out to be by and large of a peaceable nature, and defeat was easier to swallow once I realised the true superiority of their society, untarnished by the scourge of individualism so rampant in our own civilisation. After my wife’s departure our relationship soon evolved to a level approaching pure symbiosis. They took over the housekeeping duties, never missing so much as a crumb. At night I am comforted by a tickling sensation as they caress my skin, by thousands of probing antennae sifting gently through every hair on my body. It is hard now to remember my former life. Sometimes I think I see my wife standing at the bottom of the garden, Roger next to her thumping his tail, but it is merely a trick of light against the shadows of the anthills.