Bluesy The Fly

                                                        Bluesy.

R.I.P.

Here lies Bluesy. The bane of my life.

He annoyed me day, and night. Disappeared for short times. Then out of no where he's appear. Buzzing around the kitchen. Bug me while I tried to read. Write. Crochet. Acted like a dive bomber attacking. Proving he was invincible to death.

“Where's the fly spray. If I can find the damn can.” I search the cupboards. Wave my arms to keep the pest at bay. I slid open the doors. Tried to chase him outside but he didn't budge. I searched some more places for the spray to no avail.

“I'll fix you, you nuisance.” I searched out the fly swat. I sized up the funny looking swat. The object looked more like an ornament. No hope of using it for a killing instrument. I change my mind. I couldn't use it. My imagination brought up the scene of his splattered body on the surface of the cupboard. Yuck. Didn't want to clean up the mess.

“Fine. You can have the kitchen. You won't find any food.” Locking all the doors I ventured up the stairs to lay on the bed to read a book. I opened the book. Put on my glasses. Made myself comfortable, to find peace, while I became one with the characters.

“Buzz. Buzz.” The rotten blowfly had made his way upstairs. It kept buzzing between my glasses, and the book. My interest in the story lost.

“You can have the book.” I placed the book and glasses, on top of the bedside draws. Grabbed the edge of the quilt to cover me from head to toe. Waiting for the buzzing to stop I drifted off to sleep.

On waking. I listened for the consistent buzzing to alert me Bluesy haunted my bedroom. No noise. He'd found some other way to be amused. With a little luck, and inventiveness on his part, he had escaped.

Bluesy was not to be found. Like the fly spray, he was in hiding. Until. That is. I sat at the table to eat my evening meal. He didn't act like a normal blowfly. Not once did he try to land on my food. Unless, I counted the times he flew past my face when raising the food to my mouth. Or when he dive bombed toward my mug of coffee. The mug had to be covered when not in use. Bluesy is persistent, and annoying.

Our disagreements continued, on and off, over the next few months. I'd leave the screens open for him to leave on his own accord. I've chased him toward the door but he kept doubling back. The bee, which made its way into the kitchen was of less trouble to evict out the door.

Bluesy didn't see the errors of his way. But he knew when to disappear. The fly spray wasn't used on him. I was pleased I didn't have to use it. I would have suffered from the spray while he flew away laughing at my folly.

I decided to leave him be. Flapping my hands when he was present. Kept all food out of his reach. I didn't want him leaving germs on what intended to eat. Kept my mouth shut while he was at his annoying best. My glasses are still in tact. Many times they have been sent flying. The chase for Bluesy would have been intensified if the glasses had broken. I had a feeling one day he'd meet his Waterloo. Misjudge his target.

The day has come. I was busy rushing from job to job. I came inside to have a drink. My mug had been left uncovered. Bluesy had been missing in action for a few week. I picked up the mug to have a drink.

There lay Bluesy. Drowned. Floating on the surface of the cold coffee.

I flushed Bluesy down the sink drain. Well. I'm hoping the body did belong to him, not one of his family.