The Victory of the Vermin

One might say that the rats in my kitchen, which itself is in my backyard, have won a victory over me after some four years of struggle. The issue has been over whether it is appropriate for them to make a home in the drawers of my kitchen cabinet. They said yes, I said no. The battle has seesawed over the course of the years, sometimes heated, sometimes in stalemate, with a brief truce here and there when severe weather has dampened energy on both sides for the prosecution of grand campaigns. Many rats have fallen to the blade along the way, or rather to the sticky traps, and the conflict has passed from generation to generation, litter to litter, mere children taking up the cause when the adult population grew thin. At my disposal were all the weapons of war--conventional traps, sticky traps, fly paper, chemical deterrents, body size and weight--while the rats pressed on through the strength of numbers and by sheer force of will. At last, as I have said, Goliath has fallen, victory is conceded, and I will fight no more forever. Now their tiny flags fly on the peak of the kitchen cabinet--and yet this is, for them, a pyrrhic victory, for the ultimate prize, the contested territory, the lofty goal no longer exists. I have removed the drawers altogether from the cabinet. Ah, bitter triumph! Ah, hollow end! Ah hollow cabinet which contains no drawers. Victory is attained, yet the long coveted fruits have disappeared. So, we see, as with all wars, that, finally, no one wins. I have lost my drawers, and so have they.