A Friend Out of Season.

The house fly won’t listen to me. I don’t know what the hell he’s doing here, since this year’s mid-autumn temperatures are about in line with the January average. Not exactly house fly weather, yet here he is, wandering happily around the monitor screen, dancing on my hand, and taking his ease with great presumption on one of my ear lobes. I keep telling him:

Go over there where it’s warm!

And sometimes he does disappear for a few minutes, but mostly he doesn’t. And when he does, he’s soon back. He’s currently sitting on the desk in front of me, rubbing his front legs together. I expect he’s seen me do the same thing because it’s a bit cold in my office. Ah, but now he’s preening his wings with his back legs, a feat which I don’t think I could emulate. OK, Mr House Fly, you’re more agile than I am. And yes, I know you can fly and I can’t. Respect. And I suppose I should be glad of the company.