I have never been to a real war. That is by choice primarily, and also by luck. My homeland has never been invaded, although I now live in Hawaii, which was infamously attached. War…what is it good for? I believe there should be alternatives…
But recently I have been called into battle to defend my home, my yurt, from an onslaught of mice. They started it. Although the truth be known, I have built my round home in their native territory, and so they been called to defend it and even take advantage of it in their mouse-like way; they assault the walls and enter through the weak points, near the doors. And they scamper and gnaw, especially at night. I believe I am suffering Hype-Mouse-Awareness Syndrome. They disturb the peace by chewing the insulation into tiny bits, leaving small drifts of silver shreds on the floor. I guess they are building nests…bringing in re-enforcements, establishing a beachhead? And in their mouse-chauvinistic way they mark their victories by pooping -seed like feces- everywhere.
So reluctantly, I go to war. These mice are not repugnant rats that I could learn to hate; no they are cute little lava gray fur balls. In another part of the world at a different time I may have been buying them for pets or for science projects. But now they have crossed a line, one that they do not see, for it is a line of mine; they have crossed my border of sensibility. They are disturbing my peace and they must die. They are the dirty evil hordes.
There is no reasoning with them. They know not of truce or compromise. So I must summon my strongest weapon, hate. Why, I remember one bit me once, DIE! And all those times they pooped in the silverware drawer, DIE. And the chewing and gnawing my beloved yurt walls, all night long, my place of certain serene sanctity: DIE-DIE-DIE!