Greetings

In many business models and offices and classrooms around the world, it is considered as the epitome of a hard worker. There also is a poem built around it, I remember reading it sometime in junior school. It is about an ant and a cricket. The cricket spends the summer singing its lungs out, while the ant works on and on. Come winter and the ant has food but the cricket goes hungry.
Thus it is that many a tale and song sung about the ant teaches us so many lessons. I found one this morning, thanks to a sting on my leg that woke me up with the rudest of shocks. There was the culprit, walking about like my sheets were but its fine summer ground.
This little squirt needs to be taught a lesson. One that he will not forget, if he lives through it at all.
So I caught the little guy and put it in the glass that was at the foot of my bed, and put the lid on it. The little guy went walking up and down in a spiral like somehow if its little feet tread all over, the lid will magically open itself into freedom. I decided that it deserved a feast before its fate came knocking. In went a dribble of honey. But the wise one around whom business models are built, did not have anyone to share it with. Knock out destiny, yeah?
So when I thought Beaver had a fill (that’s what I began to call him, all little beings surely deserve names) of yummy Himalayan honey, I took it to my favourite haunt- the store room, and put it on the spiders web there. It must have screeched in its Beaver like way, for these are sounds my ears don’t hear. All stuck in the web, not knowing where to go. Along came the spider and sat down beside him and ate Mister Beaver away.
But then something told me that the busy guy may not have really died, and must be doing the rounds inside the spider’s stomach.
So this time the spider with the ant inside in went into my glass. What would be a fitting ending to a spider that has swallowed the ant that gave me a rude shock on a fine morning?
Then a scheme came floating into the otherwise vacant thoughts in my head. Should I just crush him under my feet? One giant stomp and squish will end all the misery.
I instead chose something more elaborate.
Out came a board and some drawing pins. The spider went on it, and the little spindly wicked legs did not really get pinned to the board, I simply cut them off with a pair of scissors and pinned the rest of the soggy being on the board.
The perfectionist in me begged for elaboration.
So I got out a little candle- the ones that go on birthday cakes and a little piece off the top, with the wick in it. This I placed on the spider.
I blew out the candle and sang Happy Birthday Kafka.