A week ago I adopted a fly from FlyFinders.com. I’ve been without a pet since Amber Dog died two years ago, and I can’t bear the thought of replacing her. Flossie flew into our lives through the open screen door. She knew exactly where Richard and I live.
Sweet Flossie, a gray fly with a pink nose, does not need to be walked or groomed. A few toast crumbs for breakfast satisfies her simple diet. Leftover bits of food on the kitchen counter please her, and she uses her front legs to brush her face when done eating.
“Don’t land on the cutting board, Flossie,” I told her. “I know your feet are clean, but flies can pick up germs.”
On Wednesday, Flossie disappeared for hours. She wasn’t walking on the floor or sitting by the sink. I began to worry.
“Richard, did you kill my fly?” I asked the man who drowns pack rats and mice caught in the Have-A-Heart trap.
“No,” he laughed, “I didn’t kill your fly.”
Flossie revived my memory of going to the butcher shop with Auntie Alice when I was a kid. I would sit on the window ledge while Alice talked to the meat cutters. The window had dozens of dead flies with silver wings and black noses. Having nothing much else to do except wait, I would pick up a fly and pinch off its nose. The noses separated as if they were only screwed to the body.
My pet fly is wild and fast. Flossie’s not pesty like flies that buzz your ears or want to taste your sweat. I’ve tried to capture her under a glass, but she gets away. She’ll land close by and stare in wonder as I concoct breakfast. I’ve opened the screen door inviting her to the grassy yard. Flossie likes the air-conditioned rooms and tiled floors.
On Thursday, Flossie went missing again. She was not in the kitchen. I shrugged and acknowledged her independence. After all, who wouldn’t love flying through these cool rooms with high ceilings? Sadness came the next day when I dust mopped the floors. Behind the bathroom door lay Flossie’s still gray body with its pink nose. Sad to say good-bye to such a cute, perky fly.
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