It is not because the rug is beige and a smashed ant might discolor it. It is not because I am unaware of the potential damage to the wooden structure of my home should more carpenter ants move into it—though, in truth, my knowledge is secondhand and not necessarily accurate. It is not because I am squeamish (though I am, sometimes, that). It is because the ant is alive. Who am I to end a life?
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