Commentary by Wayne Lee
I’m about ready to unload a cat. He’s been with me for about 16 years and is as affectionate as can be, but he’s beginning to be a little too independent for his own good. I call him Inspector Moustache for a couple of reasons. The first is the white under his nose that looks like a mustache. The second is his cat curiosity.
Most mornings when I get up, I’ll find all the cupboard doors wide open from his nightly inspections. However, he has taken it to a whole new level. Just the other day I opened up the doors and windows for some fresh air before making a quick trip to the store. When I got back, I couldn’t believe what I had found.
He had figured out how to use his claws to pull open the sliding screen door in the back and let himself out. After all, when you have claws, who needs opposable thumbs? However, his little maneuver allowed flies to fill the house, and I can’t stand flies. They drive me crazy, which is why I’m glad there was nobody around to see what transpired.
What they would have seen was a crazy old man running around the house swinging at anything airborne and missing most of the time because my eyesight and aim both leave something to be desired. Not to mention my language due to my anger and frustration.
The cats all scattered as I ranted and raged throughout the house, flailing away at the irritating little airborne invaders. I opened the blinds to create a killing zone at a window that would draw the pesky invaders within range, but these were big house flies and my wimpy little discount fly swatter was not as lethal as I expected. Even when I made contact, they escaped to regroup and annoy me again.
The war raged on for hours as I managed to register minor victories throughout the house. Eventually the fly body count began to grow as the little bodies hit the floor. I even managed to whack one in flight, but it just shook it off and I swear I heard a tiny little laugh as it flew away.
The sun began to set, and the population had seriously decreased to the point I felt I had won the battle. I was wrong. Every time I sat down feeling victorious, one of the little invaders would fly around my head, taunting me, and the fight resumed. Exhausted after hours of battle, I called it a day and went to bed.
The next day, renewed, rested and ready, the battle resumed. My trusty swatter and I were on the hunt once again. The window killing zone I expected to draw them within range no longer seemed to work. I realized these were an upper level of flying invaders who had evidently learned from their dead brethren to avoid the window and proceeded to harass me with repeated airborne attacks from various angles wherever I sat. I had to take a stealth approach.
I calmly followed them to wherever they chose to go, anxiously waiting for a landing and then attacked. My success rate was roughly 50/50, but progress was made. However, each time I thought I nailed the last one, another would fly around my head, taunting me. After two days of fly insanity, tired and exhausted, I have finally regained control of the no-fly zone. If that damn cat opens that door again, he’s staying outside forever.
