Always a Metaphoric Battle to Wage

In my house, I must daily keep vigilant against pernicious assailants bent on disruption and destruction. These assailants take different forms and attack from various angles, so even the slightest relaxation of awareness on my part will inevitably result in atrophy and, left unchecked long enough, catastrophe.

I’m talking, of course, about fur and ants.

Fur and ants are, respectively, zombies and alien robots. One attacks so slowly and dumbly you don’t even realize it is upon you until it’s too late; the moment you recognize one clump of fur is the moment you realize that you are surrounded. The other attacks suddenly, with disconcerting, otherworldly speed should you fail to get that one errant tomato seed into the trash or your idiot cat (one of two moronic creatures producing zombies in your house) insists on leaving food in her bowl so she can’t see the bottom of it.

An effective weapon against both fur zombies and alien ant robots is a powerful vacuum, and I wield mine with stone-cold heartlessness. Preventative measures like brushes and traps help, but you cannot rely on them to keep you safe from invasion. At best, they are like an overwrought and underequipped border patrol, attempting to do their job but ever aware of its ultimate futility.

When it comes down to it, all you can do is buckle down, man the guns, and wait it out until the enemy is spent–or you’re defeated.

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