Long Live The Fly

There was one last fly left in the house.  I'm not sure what the lifespan of a common musca domestica is, but this one must have been over 100 in human years. Over that time I'm positive its taken one too many hits to the head from repeated efforts to break through the living room window, thinking freedom was only 3/16 of an inch away.  Imagine his horror (I'm pretty sure its a dude cuz I would do the same at that age), when he finds out its double paned.  He's gotten so large I swore I saw his shadow during a buzz-by. 

During his youth he fancied himself quite the swashbuckler.  I bet the lady flies though he was....um...well.....pretty fly (-:.....He was fast and daring, darting in and out of rooms, landing on your nose, buzzing around your ears while you tried to nap on the couch or had your hands in the sink.  Seventeen hundred square feet to romp at his pleasure and somehow he felt the need to only invade and habituate the immediate area we were occupying at any given moment.  Drove us nuts.  The dogs hated him, not only for the frequent sorties he flew to the food dish to dine and poop, but the times when he teased them into leaping and snapping catching nothing but thin air, desperate to end the charade.  They slept with one eye open most nights, and when sleep finally did come to visit, you could almost see them twitch at intervals, dreaming about Flyzilla terrorizing their home.

Over time the fly lost the vibrancy of youth. It became slower but still had the street smarts. We hung up an army of strategically placed sticky fly strips throughout the house.  Because of them our home bore the resemblance of a five year olds birthday party with streamers hanging all over it.  We caught a lot of flies, a few other winged creatures unknown to us, plus a few of my own hairs from midnight trips to the fridge for a glass of milk.  Through it all however our pesky roommate still managed to navigate his way through the sticky mess loaded with fallen comrades.

Another month passed, and the flytraps began coming down, each with its good share of protein firmly affixed.  Our house guest remained, but his journeys became less and less frequent. When we did see him on a given day, we would give him a casual wave in the hallway or a "hey, hows it goin" at the pantry door. Even the mutts stopped snapping at him and would just let the old fella pass by with nary a twitch of the ear.  I think we all did this out of mutual respect.

This morning I found him lying on the window sill.  A warriors last effort towards freedom.  I felt a profound sadness for him, having achieved so many things in flyhood, but in the end not understanding why he couldn't find that freedom through a clear expansive picture.  So close but yet so far!.........So it goes in flydom.