We’ve had some beautiful fall days here in Northeast Oklahoma. Keeper Hubby and I have been opening our back door while we eat breakfast to take advantage of it. One of those mornings we had a visitor. A fly buzzed through the door and started swooping us while we ate. I thought I had shooed him out the door but a few minutes later I found him doing bomber runs over the dishes while I loaded the dishwasher. No big deal. It’s just a fly.
I walked into my office about five minutes later and sat down. Right next to me was the fly, doing his fly hip-hop dance across my pile of papers. I shooed him some more. I could hear his tiny fly voice bouncing off the office walls for most of the morning. I took a bathroom break and there he was sitting on the sink.
This fly was stalking me. I was ready for drastic measures. I swatted at him with a washcloth. No luck. I think he hid in the shower until I left. I took a lunch break and there he was again. He hounded me during television watching and when I laid down for bed.
After two days of this I was hatching a complicated assassination plot. Nothing worked. The fly enjoyed following me around the house for about five days. Then I pulled out the big guns. Artist Daughter brought her two kittens over for kittysitting while she was out of town. The fly was happy to have new beings to torment. But the tables turned.
The kittens were intent on taking this fly out. And on their third evening with us, I heard the horrified fly-screams when the furry twins cornered him. A last buzzing cry was cut off as one of the kittens ate him whole. After my initial congratulations to the victorious kitten, I felt bad for the fly. He had outwitted me for an entire week, and was beaten by a sweet kitten who wouldn’t hurt a flea. Too bad he wasn’t a flea.