So, I’m a nice enough guy usually: certainly not a murderer or anything, but would I hurt a fly? Well, that’s where it can get tricky.

One fly comes and I’m cool. Ditto for two and three. Four flies starts to get worrisome. By the time there are seven flies in my kitchen, I am crazy with disgust for them and luckily it is time to go to bed.

I leave the kitchen door open, hoping to not find them there tomorrow. Hoping that they will somehow develop brains in the night that will lead them away from the closed window.

I get up earlier than usual the next morning, before the sun is up. All seven flies are asleep on the ceiling. Unmoving on the ceiling.I feel for them being asleep. I relate to them. I drink my tea and write some notes and they are still unmoving on the ceiling. I feel differently about them.

I leave to go to a cafe and come back to moving flies and, even worse, sitting flies on food left out.

Normally, I start killing at this many flies, but now, I don’t. I’ve seen them sleeping. Upside down.

No doubt

I have seen the squirrel again. Twice, in fact. Each time around eleven in the morning and on the same block of the same street. I see her dash across the street with the acorn in her mouth and in three different yards, bury the acorn. She does it whole heartedly with quick efficient strokes. I guess there’s not much doubt in an animal’s mind. They are either doing it or not doing it.