Hello, my old foes. You’re back. Let the dance begin.
I expected you, you know. You’ve grown predictable with your annual onslaught, and though you come with new ranks each year, your tactics remain the same. Predictable, just like your arrival.
I, on the other hand, have learned from previous years, and I am prepared. My arsenal is ready. I have mastered my tactics. My skill and cunning exceed yours. My weaponry is superior. I will be victorious, though your numbers are legion and I am only one.
You fail in making your assault from the same location year after year. I know from whence your army will arise and commence battle. Oh, it’s true that you may, from time to time, change the location of your headquarters a few paltry inches, but it’s never enough to catch me by surprise.
You fail in coming without having armed yourselves adequately. Your firepower is piddling, and I scoff at you.
Your ranks are nervous, ill-organized, and undisciplined, running about like scared little children at the least suggestion of engagement.
You have, I must admit, one advantage–that of creeping me out a little, especially in the middle of the night or when you swarm my livestock’s rations, but you fail in causing me to retreat.
I shall fight you. Make no mistake. I shall fight you with wet paper towels, wiping you from the face of the earth, or at least from the bathroom floor. I shall fight you with bug spray, but only sparingly and when absolutely necessary because the smell makes me kind of queasy. I shall fight you with the vacuum, sending you and all your kind to a dusty and airless demise. I shall go on to the end. I shall fight in the bathroom, in the kitchen, and near the litter box, and I shall never surrender.
Thank goodness they aren’t millipedes. But that’s another story from another time.