The Fly That Wouldn’t Die

House flies!  I swear it’s like the song about the cat.  I exterminated one on Thursday, one on Friday, I’ve swatted two just this evening, and each time I think, “Finally!”  and not ten minutes later, Bzzzzzzz!  AAARRRGGGHHH!!!

I’ve no idea where they’re coming from.  I did have the storm door open while I was cleaning it during my pre Chinese New Year house cleaning frenzy weeks ago, and one of them could have snuck past my guard then, but five?  Some might have come in from the garage Wednesday (Wouldn’t you know it?  The first time I’ve come and gone through the laundry room door into the garage in literally years.  See?  Bad Feng Shui.)

Never mind where they came from; I know where I want them to go. Stupid flies.

In the knitting news, pictured is “The Assassin’s Daughter” shawl with ball #5.  If you can see the green stitch marker in the lower left, that was the end of ball #3.   I’ll finish this row, bind off and put a stitch marker through the last loop and test it for size.   If it’s still not big enough, then I’ll go the whole 7 balls.

I’m thinking about issuing myself another Mag Challenge.  Stay tuned.

SCRABBLE (ca September ? 2002 –February 5, 2020)

On a sad note, Scrabble, crossed the Rainbow Bridge Wednesday.  For the past 18 years, she provided editorial support to authors Sharon Lee and Steve Miller of Liaden Universe fame.  She was the grand dame of the Cat Farm and Confusion Factory. She is survived by her humans, Lee and Miller, and her feline associates Trooper, Belle and Sprite.  She will be missed.

What follows is a little something I scribbled in memoriam of Elizabeth Bear’s cat Maeve.  It bears repeating:

On silent feet, the furry folk arrive,
Leave paw prints all across my days,
Scatter catnaps in my sunshine places.
Oh, how their presence graces me.
Quicker than a winking eye, as agile as a smile,
they stalk the pathways of my heart
And what a great emptiness they leave behind
When it is time for them to go.

WOL©2011

Author: WOL

My burrow, "La Maison du Hibou Sous Terre" is located on the flatlands of West Texas where I live with my computer, my books, and a lot of yarn waiting to become something.

One thought on “The Fly That Wouldn’t Die”

  1. What a lovely tribute to Maeve, and to cats generally. It certainly describes my life with Dixie Rose. I snicked at the swat team cartoon — that’s a good one. If you’re not smelling something obnoxious, those probably are accidental flies: confused, and just as unhappy about being in your space as you are about having them in your space. I’ll never forget the time something larger died in my place, and the only cheery advice I was given was “when the odor is gone, the flies’ll be gone.”

    Like

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