A Fly there was, a Fly! a Fly!

[desperance]

There is a fly in the house, and Barry is going to kill it. If he has to break everything in the house, yea, and the house itself, he is going to get that fly.

I suppose I ought to stop him, but I have no conception how. He is frantic with the hunt, mad with it, flying from bookshelf to window, leaping at light-fittings, pirouetting in mid-air as the cursed creature eludes him yet again. How do you interrupt the mind of a predator so entirely focused on a kill?

Besides, I don't want to stop him. He's having far too much fun, and I am giddy with the giggles. I will guard my desk, my computers, my glass of wine; beyond that, the house can look after itself. Or rather it can't, but it's on its own out there.

Comments

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Barry is coiled steel, with ambition: kind of a cross between Spring-Heeled Jack and the Bloody Red Baron. Utterly delusional, he thinks he can catch them in mid-air, like a swallow. I've tried for photos, but the camera's too slow; he always crash-lands before the flash goes off.

Y'know, I was chatting with my editor & publicist a few years back, when the company's Chief Honcho walked past. She paused to say hullo, listened briefly to our conversation then murmured, "Ah, the Cat Fancy," and excused herself. She would so hate LJ...